Fearless
by thedancingcrown
Summary: The Team takes a trip. (rated T for safety)
1. Bodies

**A/N: This is a rather half-hearted attempt at a somewhat half-baked story I've been running through my mind...I'm going to try very hard to update one chapter every week, but we'll see how it goes. :) Thanks for reading!**

**Also, pay attention to titles and headings or stuff like that...They'll help you feel less confused as we carry on...**

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**Part One: Robin.**

**Chapter One.**

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The sight of it sent Robin's – _Dick's_ – mind hurtling back into a somewhat buried memory. Of course it was impossible to forget this memory entirely, and, painful though it was, a large chunk of him never _wanted _to forget it. The rest of him didn't want to be constantly reminded of it either, though. So the boy had wrapped it up, with his old red, blue and yellow uniform, knotting it tightly, before he stuffed it somewhere in the back of his mind – for safekeeping. Other memories had since then clouded the way between the present and that past. His time as Robin – with Batman, with the Team, his friends. His time as Dick Grayson – with Bruce Wayne, with Alfred; with Wally, who wasn't supposed to know, but did.

All of those loving, caring memories, times he were _so_ fond of, they all seemed to dissipate, making a clear path toward the one memory he'd kept hidden, for himself, for so long. And then it was in the forefront of his mind and he was suddenly reliving it.

Dick was on the trapeze, seemingly a million miles above the ground. He would swing – _fly_ – through the air, like a bird. A robin. A Grayson. But never alone – his parents, his aunt and uncle, his cousin, John, they would be by his side every swing of the way. Smiling. They were happy. They were a family. In every sense of the word.

And then he was sitting, on the platform of the centre pole, watching his family perform the grand finale to their routine. Secretly, a little pang of jealousy tugged at Dick's insides – how he'd been wishing to be up there with them. Only, he was the youngest, it was too dangerous – mentally he'd scoff at that: they'd done it a thousand times, they were good, they knew the moves; nothing would ever happen. But John would smile at his cousin, and say he'd get his chance, just not now…and then, quite suddenly, not ever.

A woman screamed in the back of Dick's mind, and voices echoed through his subconscious – distraught, terrified, confused, angry voices, he sometimes thought he was only imagining, before it all went eerily quiet not a second later.

He remembered only limbs then – could see them in his mind's eye as he looked down. No longer _people_, exactly. Not the way people were supposed to be. But rather…_bodies_. Twisted, broken, bent bodies, piled on top of each other, curling around each other, _dead_ upon one another.

And then he was Robin again, and the spotlight in the tent illuminating his family's ruined limbs was a spotlight no more – but moonlight, shimmering through the clouds overhead. He was no longer on the centre platform in the circus tent, but on the edge of a tall building's roof. Which building, in what part of the neighbourhood, at what time of night, Robin wouldn't ever be able to guess at. Everything had flown from his mind – everything but the memory – when he saw _it_.

Robin stared down at the alley below. His family's lifeless corpses no longer filled his vision.

Instead, the darkness he stared at bore the outline of a black figure in its midst. Limbs contorted unnaturally, legs twisted beneath a heavy, muscular frame, arms bent and broken, bones protruding, blood spattered, neck wrung…

Robin stared.

His heart lurched, his breath caught.

What was this?

_What was this?!_

This couldn't be.

It _couldn't_ be…

It wouldn't.

Not…

…Batman.

Batman.

_Batman._


	2. In the Gut

**A/N: I'm a little concerned with how I'm going to pace all this...I don't really want to leave you hanging with Batman dead and all XP but I'm more tempted to get everyone else out of the way, and basically "set up the stage" I want to call it, before we get back to that...so, that's what we're doing.**

**_Many thanks! _****to the follows, the faves, and the reviews - AbbyNormalWriter and starwarsfan15. :D It's appreciated. Also, starwarsfan15, denial is a pretty good place to be in, I think. Stay there, you might be better off later... ;P**

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**Part Two: Red Arrow.**

**Chapter One.**

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The door to the rooftop burst open unceremoniously, banging against the wall of the small square building housing the entrance to the stairs.

Red Arrow stepped out, arrow nocked and bow raised, string drawn tight. He stepped lightly, slowly, but alertly as he shifted around, looking for his quarry.

"You can see me…" he said, whispered almost. "Don't play games."

Silence.

He stepped farther into the open, turning as he went so as to keep a relatively even eye on every part of the roof. He was well aware that he was a perfect target, but he felt confident she wouldn't strike him down from a distance. She'd want to talk to him first. Toy with him. That was her play. With a hint of agitation, he realized he was sort of counting on that right now.

"Come. _Out_," he snapped into the night, frustration leaking into his voice. He gritted his teeth, "I know you're here somewhere."

"'Somewhere' is awfully vague," her disembodied voice found his ears – from behind, he thought. Figures.

He spun round, bow raised and ready to strike, only to recoil at once before he'd even properly turned. Her sai whipped past his face, nicking him on the cheek and he winced, his fingers losing their grip on his bowstring, sending the arrow flying.

He muttered a curse, feeling stupid for having been caught so off guard, and at once drew another arrow from his quiver, nocking it quickly and raising his bow.

She laughed a little at that, stepping forward into the light of the moon. She'd caught his stray arrow, was twirling it around between her fingers. She glanced at the arrow in her hand and then looked at him, "A rather rude welcome, wouldn't you say."

"Speak for yourself," he said.

"Touché" she replied, pointing the arrow at him, her eyes probably on the cut her sai had left. He could hear the smile in her tone. Of course she was smiling, though – it was all in the name, after all. Though, he didn't think she'd taken the cat's name for its grin alone.

"_Where_ are they?" Red Arrow asked, probably cutting off something else she'd been about to say, but he hadn't come for pleasantries and witty banter.

She made a noise that made him think she was pouting behind the mask, "Who?" she asked, too innocently.

"You _know_ who!" he snapped, releasing the arrow straight for her head. Which was, admittedly, rather stupid if it had hit, since he needed her alive to tell him what he wanted to know. Luckily – and at the same time he couldn't believe _that_ was how he thought if it – she dodged neatly out of the way.

He'd nocked another arrow, fired it almost at once, but she saw, and stepped swiftly out of the way again – only, this time, he hadn't been aiming for her. The arrow hit the brick wall behind her, and it exploded at once, the blast catching Cheshire off guard and sending her sprawling across the rooftop. Roy shot another arrow, this one aimed at her feet, as she made to get up. She wasn't quick enough, and the arrow exploded into a cloud of polyurethane foam, trapping her up to her shoulders.

Cheshire struggled despite the fact it was obviously useless, and then she turned her sights on him for a different tactic. "You know, if you wanted me to stand still, all you had to do was ask."

Red Arrow scowled, and pulled a pocket knife out from somewhere on his person. He flicked it open, advancing on Cheshire as he did so.

"Tell me what I want to know."

"Hmmm…you're too cute when you're trying to be intimidating," she mused teasingly, but Roy had had enough. He held the knife up to her neck, its tip only _just_ not touching her skin.

"What have you done with the Team?" he asked, voice low and dangerous. "Robin, Aqualad, Kid Flash…?"

He watched her eyes narrow, imagined her lips turning into a smile behind the mask, "I imagine the rest of the team are pursuing some leads, aren't they? Shouldn't you be working _with them_ on this?"

"They could be moles and traitors for all I know – I don't care what they do," he snapped harshly. "I only want to save my _friends_." Immediately after he said it, Red Arrow couldn't help but wince. Sure, Sportsmaster had been the one to sow the seed concerning the mole, and Cheshire knew about it as well, without a doubt. But he hadn't meant to mention anything about that or whom he suspected to her – now she knew; information she'd pass on to Sportsmaster, and they'd use it to tip off the mole. Roy scowled. What now? How did he fix this?

"Interesting theory," Cheshire said. "And such loyalty to your 'friends', I wonder if they deserve it…"

"Enough!" he used the knife to flick off her mask and it clattered onto the ground, the only sound in the air for a moment. "I know Sportsmaster has them – tell me where and why if you want to live!"

She laughed heartily at that, but stopped a little abruptly when he pressed the blade to her neck again. Her voice hadn't lost its mirth when she spoke, though, "I always knew there was a reason I liked you – deep down you really _are_ a bad boy."

"_Fine_," Roy growled, ignoring her, "Then I'll just have to torture it out of you."

"Ooh, _at least_ ask me on a date first," Cheshire crooned, pouting.

Roy tightened the grip on his knife, and might have said something, might have done something, were it not for the soft flop of boots onto the rooftop behind him just then, and Green Arrow asking in a somewhat cautious tone, "Red Arrow…what are you doing?"

Not shifting his knife away from Cheshire's neck, Roy moved just enough to look back at Oliver Queen over his shoulder.

"_Busted_," Cheshire whispered.

Red Arrow ignored her, barking at Green Arrow instead, "I'm doing what the rest of you won't! I'm getting my friends back!"

"There's a way of doing things. And this isn't it," Green Arrow replied, raising a hand as though gesturing for Roy to calm down. "Let's take a breath before you do something you'll regret—"

Only, Roy didn't want to calm down – and how could Ollie expect him to? His friends were _missing_, and not the Team or the League – or the freakin' _Batman_ – were doing much to rectify that. It was up to him, and Cheshire was his best chance of finding his friends. This was the only way.

"Have you lost your mind?" Roy exploded, losing his grip on what little calm he had left, rather than feeling turbed by the meant-to-be soothing approach his ex-mentor was using. Mentally, Roy admitted to himself he'd been spending too much time with Robin…before the kid got napped, and now that time didn't seem like enough yet.

"You certainly seem to have," a new voice spoke from the other side of the roof, and Roy, more annoyed now with the additional interruption, turned around again. "Let's see if we can help with that."

Roy's eyes hadn't locked onto the owner of the voice, hidden somewhere in the shadows, yet, when two shots rang out quite suddenly, echoing through the air. At virtually the same moment, Green Arrow behind Roy let out a startling cry. Red Arrow's blood ran cold at the sound of it, and he spun around, feeling desperately _frightened_.

"_Ollie!_" he exclaimed, watching his mentor drop to one knee, crimson staining his green attire.

"Tut-tut, secret identities," he was vaguely aware of Cheshire's words, as he abandoned his knife to the rooftop and sped to his fallen ally's side. Oliver had fallen backwards, one hand weakly held against his abdomen, the other sort of trying and failing to get at his shoulder.

Roy slapped his hand away and pressed his own against Oliver's shoulder, the other applying pressure to the wound in Ollie's gut. The only thing that seemed to register in Roy's mind in the following moment was, _There's too much blood._

Ollie seemed to want to say something, his lips parting for a second, but Red Arrow cut him off fervently, "Don't speak! Just…hold on…" Roy couldn't think of what to do though, except apply pressure. He'd suddenly forgotten all of his training.

"What took you so long?" Cheshire was speaking from behind, but Roy was only vaguely aware.

"Ran into a man with gills. It ended badly," a chuckle. "For the gills."

Red Arrow looked around to see who it had been that had shot Ollie from the shadows, but he'd already figured it was Sportsmaster – he wasn't wrong. The mercenary had somehow gotten Cheshire freed from her foamy prison, but the assassin was scowling at him. Sportsmaster apparently elected to ignore her.

Cheshire was still holding the arrow she'd caught before, and, when Roy met her eyes she waved it at him, "Souvenir."

"Let's go, little girl," Sportsmaster said, impatiently, hoisting his hunting rifle onto his shoulder. "You're wasting my time."

She shot him another scowl he didn't see, already walking back towards the shadows.

"What have you done with Aqualad?!" Red Arrow called after him, and the other man paused for a moment to glance over his shoulder at the archer.

"Nothing a little bed rest can cure," he chuckled.

Cheshire had retrieved her mask and put it on. She blew Roy a kiss from behind Sportsmaster's back where he couldn't see her, and winked at him, "See you around, Hero."

"Yeah, see you around, Broken Arrow," Sportsmaster said.

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**Thank you for reading! Also, really long chapter... I kind of feel bad now for giving Robin not even half of this, and leaving him with a dead mentor... :/ my bad...**

**Also, my apologies if anyone seems at all out of character. I haven't written any of them before...some places are ****_supposed to be_**** a little off though, on account of... things I can't say because you don't know them yet. Mwahaha. XP**


	3. Sighs

**A/N: I feel like I should have put a character death warning somewhere... .**

**Thanks for the reviews, guys, I'm glad you're still here :) Thanks also to all the new follows and faves! You make me happy.**

**Also, I would have had this up earlier, but writing Kaldur is ****_really_**** hard. So I don't know how good of a job I did with this...meh.**

**I need to apologize now, because I'm going to continue confusing you. In fact, this chapter is going to be ****_baffling_**** in light of what you think you already know. So, sorry. XP**

**Disclaimer: Wouldn't you just know it? I don't own Young Justice, even though I didn't say it before.**

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**Part Three: Aqualad.**

**Chapter One.**

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Since spending as much time as he was with his landlubber friends, Kaldur, much to his own dismay, found he was doing more and more surface dweller things.

Generally when the Atlantian needed to clear his head, he would walk down to the beach by the mountain and dip his toes in the water. Get his feet wet. Wade in the shallows. Dive into the depths.

But for some inexplicable reason, today, he had no desire to even _see_ the ocean – even as his limbs craved the elegant movement of swimming, and the heaviness of surface air was weighing on him so much his insides ached for the lightness of water.

But Kaldur feared his heart would ache more if he were to set his sights upon the vast blueness that was, and would always be, his home.

It was with a deep feeling of sorrow then, that the hero was stretched out on the couch in Mount Justice's sitting room, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach and his head propped up against the armrest, his long legs leaving his feet almost dangling off the other end of the couch.

Behind him the television was turned on – technically. The "No Signal" sign was printed in large white letters on a blue banner, dark snow buzzing over the rest of the screen. On the other couch sat Superboy, staring blankly at the television.

To his own surprise, Kaldur found the noise didn't bother him in the slightest.

From where he lay, Kaldur could glimpse M'gann in the kitchen. She was mincing. She hummed as she worked – an unknown melody to Kaldur, making him wonder at the likelihood of it being a Martian tune, or perhaps a surface song Robin had neglected to share with him.

The Boy Wonder had given the Atlantian some tech that could play a multitude of songs at the easy press of a button. Kaldur rather liked it – for a land device; and for land records. Not all of his teammate's songs necessarily appealed to Kaldur, however, but he'd listened to each one at least once anyway. It was only polite.

Whatever M'gann's tune was, it was an unexpected complimentary sound to the television's noise.

A quiet sigh escaped the Atlantian's lips. He did not wish to look upon the ocean or clear his head swimming amongst the sea-life, because at this point in time it was the very ocean that troubled him.

The fact that it troubled him was bothering the team leader immensely as well, because he knew it should not. He had other things to concern himself with.

Sportsmaster had revealed the presence of a mole amongst his team members – a fact he had hidden from them, while he discreetly begun his own investigation. Whilst they had discovered this, seen it as a betrayal, and had then understood his reasoning, accepting it and soothing his suspicions of one of them being the guilty party, the entire ordeal still gnawed at Kaldur's gut.

Being team leader, Kaldur was well aware that it had been his responsibility to snuff out a mole had there been one, for the sake of the entire team and their safety…however, as a _friend_ and fellow teammate, he could not help but to think he had somehow failed them by even so much as _entertaining_ the thought that one of them was a traitor.

Kaldur glanced at Superboy – _Connor_. Connor _Kent_. The clone had no idea. Of course, it was not Kaldur'ahm's place to say.

The Superman clone had been especially upset upon overhearing about the mole. Of course, everyone had once it really sunk in that Kaldur had been keeping such a secret from them. _Robin_ ended up being the voice of reason – actually _asking_ Kaldur why he had kept the issue of a mole a secret, and _agreeing_ his decision had not been wrong. However, Kaldur still felt lousy about it on occasion.

He was wondering whether the team felt that way as well.

Having Roy join the team recently, was not particularly helping the issue, either.

Kaldur was convinced of his team's innocence – as their friend, he would not betray them by thinking otherwise a second time – never mind Red Tornado turning out to be guiltless, suggesting a potential mole still in their midst. But, his surface friend was not.

Red Arrow slunk around the cave, keeping a suspicious eye on everyone, seemingly unaware of how it grated on some of the team's nerves.

Just having him in the same room as Artemis had turned into a somewhat nerve-wracking experience for the team – Kaldur, for one, was never certain whether one of them would start flinging arrows at the other. And they never turned their backs on each other either.

It had made Wally antsy as well – more than usual. The redhead seemed to feel divided, between his long-time friend and his female teammate.

Artemis's actions on their last mission, tracking Cheshire solo, did seem to put Wally in Roy's corner more than before, but…the speedster didn't seem happy about it, and it showed.

Kaldur sighed loudly without having meant to, but there it was – earning him a curious look from the clone, but Connor thankfully didn't ask.

For himself, Kaldur was torn between trying to maintain some form of team unity, and his own personal, distracting feelings. Feelings that could only become more complicated if he were swimming in the sea.

Hence the couch.

Kaldur had thought he'd settled the issue of Atlantis when he came back after his first visit home since joining the team. While it had felt that way for a good long while, the Atlantian needed the ocean, needed _home_, and could not stay away for too long.

Returning was inevitable, but he had not been prepared for how much it stung each time.

It got to the point he'd been ignoring the ocean recently, the call back to the sea and its great depths. He had not been home in months. Now, he was afraid his mind would start to dwell on Atlantis and what – _who_ – dwelled there, and he would be liable on another mission – as he had been with Clayface.

But, going back, only the thought, and seeing—

It was too much for the Atlantian to bear.

But…staying away, was becoming as heavy a weight.

Kaldur let out another sigh, feeling deflated.

"What?" Connor said this time, startling the Atlantian. He looked over at the clone.

"N-Nothing. I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb."

Superboy frowned at him, clearly not believing, but shrugged and let the issue drop.

**_Recognized: Aquaman 06_**

Kaldur's eyebrows rose, his interest piqued at the arrival of his mentor. It was not often King Orin made a visit to the cave.

Kaldur'ahm got to his feet, thus, and took to the zeta tubes at a brisk pace.

Approaching the – for lack of a better term – cave's foyer, Kaldur heard a chorus of distressed voices, and at once quickened his pace.

"Aquaman!"

"What happened to him?"

"Somebody fetch Kal!"

"Help me get him up—"

"I am here!" Kaldur called, rushing toward the zeta-tubes.

Artemis, her hair somewhat dishevelled and a sheen of sweat resting on her brow, stood off to the side, watching as Roy and Wally each grabbed Aquaman by an arm, trying to help him to his feet.

She looked around as Kaldur approached, and stood back so he could see his mentor properly.

"My King!" Aqualad exclaimed, falling to his knees in front of the older man, who was still on the floor despite Wally and Roy's efforts at getting him up.

"Aqua…lad," King Orin mumbled, voice hoarse, as he unhooked his arm from Wally's shoulder, and grasp Kaldur's shoulder with bloody fingers instead.

"You are bleeding," Kaldur noticed, and at once Wally's free hand went to the king's side, pressing against his wound.

"I'm calling Batman," Robin said from somewhere to Kaldur's right. He hadn't even noticed the boy was there.

M'gann and Superboy's voices floated into the room, laced thick with concern, but Aqualad wasn't hearing them.

His king was speaking again, "Atlantis…under…attack…" his eyes bore into Kaldur's, a desperate urgency within them. "You must save…the queen…"

King Orin's hand went unexpectedly slack against Kaldur's shoulder, and the young man caught it with both hands before it could fall to the floor, staring wide-eyed at his king while the man's eyes slid shut, head dropping forward.

"Dude…" Wally breathed, after a second's silence. "Kal, I'm…sorry…"

But Kaldur wasn't hearing that either. Unfamiliar tears had sprung to the back of his eyes, a deeper sting had pierced his heart, and all thought seemed to have left him.

Aqualad could only stare in agonizing disbelief – his king was dead.

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**A/N: AbbyNormalWriter: thanks for the compliment! :D Also...we'll have that description of what's going on ****_eventually_****...but not soon, sorry... ^^'**

**Thanks a lot for reading, peoples!**


	4. Deceived

**A/N: Thanks to all the new followers for following! I hope you're never disappointed with investing in this story :)**

**This chapter is****_ really_**** long, and I never meant for it to be, but I don't want to take anything out, or cut it off somewhere, so I hope you don't get bored halfway through. Heh... XP**

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**Part Four: Artemis.**

**Chapter One.**

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"'Just a simple recon mission…' 'We'll be in and out before they know it.' 'You worry too much; this is going to be a piece of cake!' 'It's deserted, what could possibly happen?' _What_-could-_possibly_-_happen?_"

Artemis rolled her eyes, having listened to enough of his mumbling next to her ear, "Something you'd like to _say_, Kid Annoyance?" she cut in, snapping through her grit teeth.

"Ow!" Wally exclaimed suddenly, tightening his grip round her neck as he hopped uncomfortably beside her, trying to regain his balance. "Ow-wow-wow—"

Artemis stopped walking, and scowled at him, tempted to pinch him really hard in the side.

This close in the dark, he could probably make out her expression as well as she could his.

"What? My foot hit a rock!" he scowled back. "I can't see a _thing_ in this darkness!"

Absently he ran a hand across his forehead, through his hair. The speedster's mask was cut above his eyes, just barely holding together to conceal his identity. His goggles had probably broken when they'd been ripped from his mask, and were missing now besides. They were lost to the night and woods.

"And also, _yes_," he snapped, answering her sarcastic, somewhat rhetorical question. "This is _your_ fault!"

"_My_ fault?" indignation was thick in her voice, and while she did feel somewhat offended, snapping back at Wally was more a reflexive thing nowadays than anything else. "I was _perfectly_ happy watching the perimeter. It was _you_ who had to run off—"

"No, no – don't give me that," Wally interrupted. "Nobody said you had to follow me—"

"I thought we were _supposed_ to watch each other's backs! How was I supposed to do that if I wasn't there?"

"I could've handled myself and been back in a—"

"_Don't_ say—"

"Flash!"

"Argh!" Artemis rolled her eyes at him, frustrated.

"Besides, if you weren't there, I wouldn't have had to save you—"

"_Save_ me?!" Artemis barked – like she was some helpless little girl who _needed_ saving? Pu-_lease_! "I didn't need your help, I was perfectly _fine_!"

"You were perfectly being _shot at_," Wally retorted, and then waved one hand at her, looking away with his nose in the air. "Whatever, babe. All the same, it's still _your_ fault I'm stuck with this broken ankle."

But Artemis had hardly heard that last. She'd blinked at what he'd called her, grit her teeth, and tried digging her nails through his suit into his side. He didn't seem to notice, though, so the tactic wasn't working as well as she'd hoped.

Scowling, she pulled him close with a violent tug of her arm, making Wally's head whip round so fast he'd probably used super-speed. Wide-eyed he stared at her, as Artemis jabbed his chest with her forefinger.

"I am _not_. Your. _Babe_," she said dangerously, narrowing her eyes at him.

Wally only stared, apparently speechless, for a full three seconds, gaping at her. Finally he said, sounding almost sincere, "I'm sorry," and then, decidedly _less_ sincere, "I did _not_ mean to call you that." He swallowed when she continued to scowl at him though, and then added, "Why don't we just get back to the Bioship—"

"Shut up," Artemis snapped, having been ignoring half of that anyway. Instead, her senses were alerted to something else – footsteps? She wasn't sure.

"What?" Kid Can't-be-quiet was still speaking, though – of course – and sounding offended. "I was just suggesting we—"

"_Quiet!_" Artemis hissed, slapping her free hand across his mouth. At once Wally grabbed at her wrist with his one hand, his arm around her neck stiffening, but Artemis ignored him, "I thought I heard something," she whispered loudly, eyes searching the darkened forest around them for any sign of movement.

There were none.

Even the noise she'd been so certain of was non-existent. Everything was quiet.

If it wasn't such a reassuring sign – that they weren't being followed, or hunted, or ambushed, or moments from a wild animal attack that could rip them to shreds or devour them whole – it would have been eerie.

"Okay…" she said at last, having let the silence drag on until she was perfectly sure there was nothing. Wally had relaxed next to her, his arm slack around her neck, his fingers lightly touching her bare arm. "Apparently not," she pulled back her hand and Wally let go of her wrist, too.

"Can we go now?" he asked, a little impatiently. "I'm tired of standing still."

She frowned at him, mumbled, "Yeah, you would be… Let's just go, then."

Holding onto his wrist, her right arm still about his waist, Artemis helped take some of the weight off Wally's 'broken' ankle, as they continued their trudge through the dark.

"Good," he was saying, "I'm _dying_ over here…"

Artemis rolled her eyes, "I hardly think it's _broken_," she said. "You probably just twisted it."

"Not _that_," he said, annoyed. "We are moving _so slow_," he stretched the word. "It's killing me."

Artemis resisted the urge to roll her eyes one more time, or to snap back with some snarky comment about his super-speed, and kept her peace instead. She figured she'd reached her quota for arguing with the speedster for today.

It was good she had, or she would have missed the very _distinct_ sound of snapping branches, shifting leaves that were clearly more than a rustle, and the resounding _fwip_ of something being thrown through the air.

"Get down!" she exclaimed, practically diving Wally to the ground as she hit the deck herself, faces first.

The speedster went down with a yelp, followed by a painful groan – probably on account of his ankle.

"Yeah, I'm down," he was muttering, as Artemis shrugged off his arm and got to her feet.

Ahead of them, embedded into a tree, a silver sai glinted in a sliver of moonlight.

Artemis extracted her bow at once, pulling an arrow from her quiver and nocking it. On the ground by her feet, Wally had pushed himself up on his elbows and had noticed the sai, too. "Oh, boy…"

"Stay down…" Artemis said quietly, scanning the area with her eyes narrowed, trying to glimpse _anything_ through the dark. She turned, slowly, trying not to make a sound with her shifting feet, but Cheshire probably had night vision or something. She already knew where they were; was watching them…

They were at a clear disadvantage.

Another deliberate rustle of leaves, like their stalker _wanted_ them to find her – probably she did, though – and Artemis aimed at the trees to her left, caught sight of Cheshire in the moonlight, and loosed her arrow.

It missed the assassin, but hit a tree and exploded all the same; only, Cheshire was far enough away already not to be affected.

She'd dived out of the trees, rolling to her feet as she loosed a pair of sais at them – Wally was on the receiving end of those, and, moving fast, the speedster rolled a little closer to Artemis's feet to dodge them.

Stepping swiftly over Wally even as he was moving to miss the sais, another arrow already nocked, Artemis raised her bow at the older woman's chest.

"What are you doing here?" Artemis demanded, Cheshire having come to a standstill at the threat of Artemis's arrow. The assassin even had her hands raised as if in surrender; although Artemis thought the gesture was really just mocking her.

"Looking for you, of course," Cheshire answered easily. "Really, I come in peace."

Behind her, Artemis could hear Wally shifting, coming gingerly to his feet – or, the one he could stand on, anyway.

"I just wasn't expecting your little friend over there," Cheshire was still speaking, and, unable to resist the urge, Artemis had to give Wally a quick glance over her shoulder. Wally had his eyes on Cheshire at least, he'd have seen if she'd done something in Artemis's brief second of inattention.

"We're hardly friends," Artemis drawled, facing the masked assassin with a frown. "Still. Wasn't trying to kill him a bit much?"

"But Artemis," Cheshire said, sounding every bit like she was grinning. "How are we supposed to talk family business with so many ears listening?"

Artemis flinched, her fingers twitching against the taut bowstring, threatening to let go.

"'Family business?'" Wally repeated, sounding puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She hasn't told you," Cheshire said, before Artemis could think up a lie. "Of course not. Too ashamed, aren't you?"

Artemis gritted her teeth, so tempted to loose the arrow. Of course, it wouldn't _kill_ Cheshire, she couldn't do that. But it would potentially shut the girl up for a good long while. Long enough for them to limp away, and her to still salvage the situation.

"Or, too afraid?" Cheshire was still speaking, in that sly way she had, just playing mind games. "I'm sorry, but your cover was already blown the moment you decided to let the boy live."

"Tch," Artemis's grip tightened on her bow, her fingers pulling the string a fraction tighter.

"Sis."

"Argh!" the green fletched arrow slid free from her bow, but Cheshire had seen it coming and was prepared, diving out of the way at once.

"_Sis?_" Artemis was hardly aware of Wally's surprised gasp behind her.

She was nocking another arrow, taking aim and firing at Cheshire without even thinking. Just moving, reacting, that's all she was doing.

What the _hell_ was the matter with Jade? Obviously, she didn't like her sister being on the opposite side of the force, but that was a bridge they'd already crossed. Artemis had never been planning on revealing Cheshire's identity to the Team, or even the League, and not _just_ because of the family ties. She'd rather expected her sister to pay her the same kind of courtesy, on principle, despite the many times she'd threatened half-heartily to spill Artemis's secret.

Up until just then, Jade had been acting like she didn't know Artemis just as Artemis had pretended not to know her. Why the change? _Why_ was Jade revealing her secrets?!

Tears had sprung uninvited to the archer's eyes, but she tried blinking them away fast, pulling out another arrow after another, and firing at the assassin.

Behind her, Wally had tried once to intervene, but Artemis had shaken him off and shoved him away. The speedster had tripped, stepping sideways on his already hurt ankle and had fallen on his butt. He hadn't gotten up again, but he hadn't shut up either, trying and failing to calm her. He wasn't any good at talking people down.

Or maybe she just wasn't listening.

Cheshire was swift, but always kept within sight and range of Artemis and her arrows. The archer barely had to move, and Cheshire wasn't slinging sais and shurikens through the air at her either.

Only vaguely did the oddity of this register in Artemis's befuddled mind. She was too angry, too hurt, too…_afraid_ to think straight. What was Wally thinking? Cheshire – her _sister_? She had family ties in the bad guy clan, blood was thicker than water, all that. She'd botched up their last mission kind of badly, tracking Cheshire on her own… Was he thinking it was because she'd planned on betraying them somehow?

No…he had to know she wouldn't do that.

Artemis reached over her shoulder for another arrow, only to find she was out.

"There," Cheshire said, satisfied. "Now we can talk."

Artemis pulled out her crossbow and aimed, only to flinch back, startled, when it was fired to bits out of her grip.

"Baby Girl. You're wasting our time."

Sportsmaster.

Artemis watched him emerge from the trees, gun resting on his shoulder. She was vaguely aware of Wally's incredulous mutter of "_Baby Girl?_"

"You have intel for us, Baby Girl. So, start talking."

_What?_

"I'm not telling you a thing. There's nothing to say, anyway," Artemis retorted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, feeling vulnerable without her arrows.

"Must we go through this every time, Little Girl?"

It took Artemis half a second to realize he was addressing Jade, but by the time she'd made to turn back around and face Cheshire, it was already too late.

A sharp, stinging pain pierced her neck, and, frantic, she reached for the spot even as her knees buckled under her and she fell to the ground.

Her fingers grabbed hold of a dart that had penetrated her skin, and ripped it out painfully.

"Artemis!" Wally's voice somewhere behind her.

Artemis dropped the dart, bent over, feeling nauseous and light-headed. Her mind felt strange, clouded somehow… And her tongue, felt heavy suddenly. How strange. Stranger, _worse_, she suddenly felt quite compelled to start speaking.

"Well, go on," Cheshire kneeled in front of her, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Tell me all your secrets."

Artemis lifted her heavy head and complied, whispering into Cheshire's ear without meaning to, but without being able to stop.

More tears crowded the corners of her eyes, as she realized what she was doing – _betraying_ her Team.

"Artemis…" Wally breathed, his voice sounding strangled to Artemis's ears. But then, even her voice sounded unlike her own. How were they controlling her like this? What had they done to her? Why couldn't she stop?!

Try as she might to stop her lips from moving, stop the words from leaving her mouth; they only kept coming – faster, and faster. Mentally she was screaming at herself, _Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!_

And then Wally spoke again – or maybe he'd barely paused after saying her name, Artemis didn't know – and the weight of his words slammed into her like she'd been rushed into a brick wall.

"You're the mole."

Artemis froze – stopped speaking, nearly stopped breathing, stopped seeing…too many tears suddenly clouding her vision. She blinked, and they fell.

"Well…I guess that's all," Cheshire said, coming to her feet. "For now."

"Then let's go, Little Girl," Sportsmaster said, and Artemis heard Cheshire walking away.

Wally was saying something, but Artemis had stopped hearing, too.

She was the mole. She was the _mole_. Red Arrow had been right.

Wally's choked cry cut through the haze, and Artemis sprang to her feet and swung round to face her family, hand reaching for an arrow that wasn't there.

Cheshire had struck Wally's shoulder with her foot and pinned him to the ground, but she looked up at Artemis and stepped back, "Just asking him nicely not to follow us. You too, sis." And then she ran, back toward the trees.

Artemis sprinted after her, ignoring Wally's call as she passed him. She could hardly look at him anyway.

_Oh, Wally…I'm _so _sorry…_

Cutting through the trees, she came into a moonlit clearing, Cheshire and Sportsmaster ahead, boarding a helicopter.

_No, no, no-no-no—_

They were getting away. They were going to get away with her Team's secrets. Plans, mission information, the Team's frickin' favourite colours – she didn't_ know!_

She had _no_ idea what she'd been whispering in Cheshire's ear. It was like she couldn't hear her own voice, and didn't understand her own language. And when Wally had snapped her out of it, it was all gone like ashes in the wind. She didn't know. And she couldn't let them get away with it.

Artemis raised her bow, only to realize she hadn't bothered to grab an arrow. _Why_ hadn't she grabbed an arrow?!

"When your little friends abandon you, Artemis," Cheshire called above the noise of the now rising helicopter. "Your family will still be here for you."

Artemis stood, feeling numb and betrayed, and confused, and…so afraid. Wally—

She turned around, and froze, finding him there by a tree, staring daggers at her.

"You're the mole," he accused again, voice fierce and thick with anger. Or, hatred?

"Wally—" she hated the way her voice shook saying his name.

"_Baby Girl_," Wally interrupted, strangling whatever else she was about to say with his tone. "What is he – an uncle? Your _father_?"

She glanced away, not having meant to, but she couldn't face his eyes.

It was all the confirmation Wally needed.

"He is. And Cheshire's your sister. And you never bothered to _tell us!_ Because you were their little inside girl. Red Arrow was right—"

"No!" Artemis snapped, because snapping at Wally came so easily. Besides, he had it wrong, and she _had_ to make him see that. "Didn't you see? They – _drugged_ me!" she said, clapping a hand over the back of her neck. "I had no control over that!"

She was looking at him again, but his expression had hardly changed.

"It doesn't matter!" he snapped back. "You _lied_ to us, Artemis! To…to the whole Team! We trusted you, and you betrayed us when you didn't tell us who your family is – if you had, we would have never let you fight them! They never would have used you!"

Artemis opened her mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. Kid Moron might actually have a point.

Wally scowled at her some more before turning around, trying his best at a profound exit even as he was hopping and limping along.

It was painful watching him hurt like that. In more ways than one.

Artemis found herself beside him without recalling having moved, "Wally," she whispered, disregarding the unbidden tears spilling freely from her eyes, the crack in her voice and her sore throat. "I'm _sorry_…so sorry…"

Despite how pathetic she probably looked, Wally's expression didn't soften. If anything, his green eyes looked down on her even harder, angrier. "It's too late, Artemis," he said, quietly, which was scarier than if he had been shouting. "I'm handing you over to the Team," he grabbed her arm, held on tight like that would stop her from making a run for it. Dared she do that even? "And then Batman can do with you whatever he wants."

Run for it? With his wounded ankle Wally would never catch her. And then what? Where would she go? Not home – the League could find her there.

Or, should she stay? Face Batman now rather than later. What's the worse they could do to her? What had she been so afraid of all this time?

That the Team wouldn't want her? Wouldn't want to work with someone who had family ties to criminals. Who could betray them at any time. Who just had.

_"Wally? Artemis?"_

M'gann suddenly spoke in her mind, making her flinch.

Wally tightened his grip on her arm, and she heard him in her mind too when he spoke to M'gann. "_I'm here_," his eyes held her gaze fiercely, and Artemis couldn't look away, couldn't move even as she contemplated escape. "_And I have the mole._"

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**Thanks a lot for reading!**

**And thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!**

**AbbyNormalWriter: I'm glad you're intrigued :D and still excited for more, I hope!**

**caylender: Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying this! I thought Red Arrow was really hard to write, because he has such a distinct "voice" and personality, that I've never worked with before. But I'm glad someone thinks I did a good job :D**

**Next chapter might ****_finally_**** clear things up for you guys! :D Let me know what you think so far :)**


	5. Rats

**A/N: I am so excited to ****_finally_**** get this chapter up. I would have been up much earlier, but it was ****_so hard_**** to write for some reason. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and that things make a little more sense by the end of it. If not, the following chapter will explain things ****_even more_****, so don't give up on all of this actually ****_making sense_**** at soem point. XP**

**Thanks for the reviews, caylender and prettykitty! :D**

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**Part Five: Kid Flash.**

**Chapter One.**

* * *

Wally West was having a significantly bad day. In fact, he'd been having a significantly bad _week_.

He'd been on lousy missions with the team that always ended with him getting them noticed, almost caught, nearly killed, partially maimed, near-lethally poisoned, tripped, trapped, tied up, sun-burnt – _what the hell?_ – and an assortment of other crazy, improbable mishaps that were all, by some vengeful ill-fated circumstance or another, _his_ fault.

It had gotten so bad Batman had been contemplating the possibility Kid Flash might be under some kind of – Wally had visibly scoffed and rolled his eyes, but mentally gulped dreadfully at the suggestion – _magical curse_.

With Zatara – or, rather, Doctor Fate – busy with his own mystical troubles, and Zatanna needed for the latest mission, however, a full Wally-scan would have to wait.

Thus the Flash's partner had been confined to his house in Central City, bored out of his wits all day, feeling guilty and rotten to his toes, and, worst of all, _empty_ in his stomach.

And it wasn't getting _any_ better.

Tossing and turning in his sheets until he very much resembled a mummy – the _dying-of-hunger-over-here_ kind – Wally eventually had a wrestling match with his covers until they finally let him go, and half sped his way to the kitchen. _Half_, because barely ten paces into super-speed he nearly collapse with exhaustion.

By the time he reached the kitchen he was crawling across the linoleum on all fours, feeling like a desert-dweller on his way to the brilliant mirage that was the fridge before him.

At least when he got to it, though, it didn't disappear. Hopeful, his stomach a bundle of giddy happiness at the prospect of getting something – _anything_; some leftover tuna casserole, pasta, the green salad even, one of those tiny tubs of yoghurt, his dad's last piece of chocolate and the consequences be damned, dammit! – to eat, Wally reached for the fridge's door with a goofy grin on his face and swung it open eagerly.

His face fell.

"Wha…?" he blinked. Again, just to be sure he hadn't seen wrong, but that didn't work, because he was still seeing wrong, so he took to pinching his arm. Once. Twice. His leg? No. Cheeks? That was just awkward. Finally, Wally grabbed hold of the fridge and its door, shaking the latter this way and that, open and closed, as he cried, "What. Is. Going. On. Here?!"

The fridge was _empty_. Like his insides.

Empty of anything grab-and-eat-able, anyway. A few eggs were nestled in their tray, the slightest sound of milk jostling in its container could be heard as Wally swung the door, and a tub of butter sat in the corner – just mocking him across the vast expanse of nothingness surrounding its golden buttery goodness contained in a green container, neither of which was edible _just like that_.

Where had all the food gone? Where? _Where?_

"Where has all the food gone?" he yelped in a small voice, not even having the strength to cringe at how much like a _girl_ that had sounded.

…Not that sounding like a girl was necessarily a _bad_ thing. Unless, you know, you were a boy. Which he _was_. And also, not that _every girl_, and all girls in general, sounded girly, and yelped in ways that should not be yelped in – Artemis, for example, was _not_ a yelper. Or a girly girl, either, which is something he rather liked about…but, that was neither here nor there!

The important thing was his desperate craving for something to eat, and his grave lack thereof – the "something to eat" bit, not the craving, because of _that_ there was plenty.

"This is like…my worst nightmare _ever_…nothing…to eat…"

_Bread_. It suddenly dawned on him. Bread wasn't kept in the fridge! And butter – you put the butter on the bread.

Wally clung to the fridge's door for support as he pushed himself laboriously to his feet – only to freeze when the light came on.

He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the bright light.

Across the room, in the doorway, stood his mom.

"Wally?" she squinted at him, her tone none too friendly. "Are you raiding the fridge again?"

She was clutching her fluffy light pink dressing gown closed with one hand in front of her, her other hand still on the light switch next to the door. Comfy light blue slippers peaked out from underneath the gown and for the smallest fraction of a millisecond they gave Wally pause – hadn't she thrown those out?

After the rat chewed holes in one, didn't she throw them out? _Ugh, the rat._ That had been a scary experience.

It had been a big, hairy thing, with sharp, nibbling teeth that had gotten hold of Wally's forefinger and just gnawed away, after Mom had discovered it in her slippers and cried in surprise, sending Wally running to her aid in distress. But that had been _months_ ago, and of course she threw the useless pair of footwear away afterward. She wore pink ones nowadays.

Didn't she…?

"And do you know what time it is?"

Wally had processed the oddity in less time it had taken his mother to voice her second sentence, so she had his full attention when she started speaking again. He pouted in reply.

"I'm _hungry_…" he moaned, putting as much emphasis and desperate emotion in the second word as he possibly could.

"Did you forget you ate us out of house and home for dinner tonight?" she _tsk_-ed, and walked towards him.

"I…probably did that, yeah," Wally mumbled, but honestly, he couldn't even remember what dinner had been. "But I'm still hungry…" his mom rested her hand on his shoulder and Wally felt increasingly grateful for her presence. Bad that he'd woken her up, of course, but Wally felt like he was being eaten from the inside by his stomach, because it just _needed food_, and he was in no position to make it himself. Cue loving, caring mother.

"Sit down, Wally," his mother said fondly. "I'll make you something."

_Good ole Mom…_

Wally smiled gratefully, and his mother stepped aside so he could reach the table, but Wally had barely left the support of the fridge's door and taken a couple steps, when his legs gave way beneath him.

"Wally!" his mother was beside him in seconds, but Wally had already reached for the table and was trying to pull himself up by its closest leg.

She gave him a hand even as he protested, "I'm fine, Mom…fine, fine…"

She muttered a stern "Shush," and ushered him into a chair.

Wally was still muttering despite the admonition, "Just…_really_ tired. And…_so hungry_…"

Wally ended up with his head resting on his crossed arms on the table, half-lidded eyes watching as his mother fried several eggs and some bacon.

"_So_ hungry…" he started mumbling, without really meaning to, but he wasn't thinking really. "So much more…than usual…I feel…emptier than empty…"

"Here," his mother said, and passed a butter-covered slice of bread his way.

He devoured it eagerly.

_Why am I _so_ hungry? Never been this hungry before…_

Half a bread and a quarter tub of butter, an empty bottle of peanut butter and six apples later, Wally felt moderately better. At least not like his stomach was chewing at his insides to fill up anymore.

He was still tired, though.

The kettle-shaped clock on the wall had _tick-ticked_ passed three sometime during the last fifteen minutes. Wally couldn't remember how long he'd been lying awake before he'd finally gotten out of bed for a snack.

He couldn't remember why he hadn't gotten up at the first sign of hunger in the first place, either. It all just felt like a bad dream. Maybe he'd been having one even in his hungry state, and he'd only woken up when his body couldn't take it anymore and needed food.

Finally his mother set a plate of eggs and bacon strips down in front of him – enough to fill up _every inch_ of the plate.

She went to work on a handful of spaghetti, breaking it into a pot of boiling water with a crunch as Wally dug into his food.

"Mom," he said, through chews, completely disregarding manners. "You are – like, the best mom – _ever_."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Wally," was the reply, but his mother spoke fondly, and smiled at him over her shoulder.

Wally grinned back at her.

With his stomach feeling better within the hour, and the sink stacked up with bowls and plates and cutlery, Wally's mind was a little freer to wander in a direction that was _not_ food. Well, not exactly.

"Mom," he chewed and swallowed before speaking again, as his mother settled into a chair opposite him. "What happened to all the food?"

He could have sworn the fridge had been packed – with leftovers, with salads, with the really bad Halloween candy that was already a month old, and he knew he had to get rid of it, but… Well, part of him had been wondering what kind of prank he could pull with the candy – shrug – and the other half thought: _midnight snack!_ But…so much for that.

"_You_ happened to the food, Wally," his mother said pointedly. "But, it's alright. I need to buy groceries tomorrow, anyway."

Wally nodded, slurping up more pasta. Then a cheeky grin tugged at his lips, "I'm not the only one who had more than his fill, though. As I recall, Uncle Barry shoved a _few_ plates in his mouth, too," he chuckled a little at the memory.

That's what dinner had been – his Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris had come over, and Flash and his partner ended up having an eating contest.

Uncle Barry didn't have Wally's quick metabolism, but he was a faster eater when he wanted to be. To keep the contest fair, they'd played with a timer of course. Wally was fuzzy on who'd won though.

When Wally looked up from two more mouthfuls of pasta, his mom was giving him an odd look.

"What?"

"The hunger must be getting to you, Wally," she said, frowning. "Uncle Barry hasn't been over in a couple of weeks."

"What?" he blinked, letting his fork drop limply into his bowl. He could've sworn… "_Really?_ He wasn't over last night, with Aunt Iris—"

His mom was shaking her head. "You said your uncle was with the team, filling in for you on a mission."

He did?

"I did?"

She nodded, and her frown turned into a small smile as she got to her feet. "The hunger was probably getting to you, Wally," she said kindly, and took his empty bowl off the table to place in the sink. She made for the door, ruffling his hair fondly as she passed him. "Go to bed, Wally."

He nodded absently, trying to remember when he'd said Uncle Barry was filling in for him.

Something else came to mind, though, "Mom – I thought you threw out the blue slippers?"

"I did, Wally," she replied, not pausing in her step, and Wally looked up, perplexed, to look at her slippers. They were pink. "_Goodnight_, Wally," she said, as she disappeared out the door.

Wally stared, eyebrows furrowed. But then he got to his feet, sped to the light switch to turn it off, and then rushed to his room, eager to get back to sleeping.

He shouldn't have been, for the rest of the night was spent in agonizing turmoil. Nightmares plagued his sleeping mind so fiercely vivid, that by the time he woke up, he was finding it hard to believe they weren't real.

Every possible scenario of the team being in some kind of fatal trouble ran through Wally's mind – Superboy stabbed with a magic sword, Aqualad and M'gann suffocated in a fire, Robin falling to his death, Artemis shot, Zatanna strangled, Roy mundanely hit by a car, and a million more. At the end of each terrifying dream, he'd end up guilty and alone – the helpless sidekick who couldn't save any of his friends.

And then it would start all over again.

Until finally a massive explosion ripped his seven friends to shreds as Wally stood safe from the blast, watching in wide-eyed horror.

As if in slow motion he saw the force of the blast send his teammates flying back. The earth shook and buildings collapsed, debris from the bomb and immediate area hurtling through the air – hitting his team.

It happened fast and slowly at the same time, and even though Wally was miles away, he could see everything happening clearly. The expression on Rob's face the instant the explosion went off, Connor's distressed cry as he reached for M'gann, who was too far away and already burning as a wave of fire engulfed the scene. Zatanna and Artemis clung to each other in fear, Kaldur and Roy in front of them in a half-hearted attempt at somehow saving them, but it was for nought.

And then all Wally saw was the light of the fire, burning bright beyond his closed eyelids though he couldn't remember having shut them.

Head throbbing painfully, his limbs feeling numb and heavy, brow drenched in sweat, Wally forced open his eyes after what seemed like an endless half-awake struggle against staying asleep and having another nightmare.

He was clinging to his sheets a moment longer after opening his eyes and squinting at the harsh rays of sunlight shining through his open window.

Then he bolted upright, half fell out of bed and sped around the room in search of his phone, flopping back onto the bed the moment he'd found it. Instinctively he dialled the familiar number, desperate to make sure it _had_ only been dreams.

"Grayson," greeted the voice on the other end of the line, sounding as cheery as ever and Wally's heart skipped an almost completely relieved beat.

"Dude, are you alive? Tell me you're alive – are you breathing? Check your pulse—"

"Er…h-hold on," the kid sounded a little distressed, and then his voice was a little farther away as Wally heard him speaking to someone else, "It's just Barb, Bruce – freaking over some test. No big, but I got to take this…" some few muffled noises later, Wally flinched as his friend's voice snapped into his ear, "Dude! What are you doing calling Dick instead of Robin? Are you insane?"

Wally flushed, realising his mistake. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized quickly, raising a defensive hand like Robin could see, "My bad. It was the first number that came to mind."

"'Came to mind'?" Robin repeated. "Never heard of speed-dial?"

Wally could practically _hear_ the eye-roll.

"Dude, I'm faster than speed-dial," he grinned. "Besides, what's with you not checking caller ID?" he quipped right back, and Robin groaned at the other end of the line.

"Bruce was in the middle of a monologue, I was just welcoming the interruption without question—" he sort of cut himself off into an abrupt silence just as he'd come to the end of the sentence, and Wally, having chuckled at his response, took a second before he noticed. Robin's voice was quieter when he spoke again, "Er, Wally…why the call?"

"Oh, dude…" he said, feeling stupid. "It's nothing, really, I just… dreamtyouandeveryoneelseIknowgotblowntosmithereensanditfreakedmeout." He finished in an embarrassed rush, scratching at the back of his head.

"Er…"

"No big," Wally said quickly. "Obviously, you're all fine. You _are_ all fine, yeah?"

The briefest moment of silence on Dick's end almost had Wally's heart racing before his friend said easily, "Yeah. We're good."

"Great," he grinned. "I'll see you later at the cave. Bye!"

"Er, Wally, maybe you should stay ho—" but Wally had already snapped his phone shut.

He froze for a second, feeling rude for not having realized Dick was still talking, and then puzzled at what his best friend had been trying to suggest – that he stay home? What for? – and then he shrugged it off at a growl from his stomach, and sped downstairs for breakfast instead.

Generous helping of waffles, pancakes, more eggs Mom had conjured up from _somewhere_, and bread, too, filled the dining table and Wally eagerly dug in.

The rest of his morning was almost literally a blur, until the cave's computer announced his arrival, and the world seemed to slow down again as he stepped through the zeta-tube.

With no one immediately in sight, Wally sped to the kitchen, where he found most of his teammates – Superboy sat in front of a static-covered television screen in the living room, Artemis by the island in the kitchen in front of Robin, who stood on the other side of the counter and was speaking to the blonde in a low voice.

"Hey, dudes!" Wally called as he rushed passed his best friend to get to the fridge. "Any snacks in here?" he snatched a granola bar from the door and popped it open, stuffing almost half into his mouth and chewing through a grin as Robin and Artemis watched.

But something was wrong with his teammate's expressions. Artemis wasn't scowling at him in disgust, for one thing, and Robin looked…sort of apprehensive.

Wally swallowed, "What's with suggesting I stay home, Rob?" he asked lightly, attempting to lift the atmosphere of a sudden weighty awkwardness. "Were you planning a big surprise?" he looked around. "And…where is everyone else?"

"Zatanna and M'gann are in their rooms…" Artemis replied, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. Her eyes on the mug before her, she shook her head slightly, "And, sorry…I don't want to be here, either," she was out of her seat and marching from the room before Wally could do as much as blink.

"What was that?" Wally looked to Robin for an explanation, frowning. "Do I smell or something?"

Robin shook his head morosely, "Erm…never mind Artemis. Or anyone else either," he waved a hand, sparing Supey by the couch a quick glance. The clone was looking pretty entranced by the T.V. "Batman and Black Canary want to talk to you."

"Is this about the curse thing? Because I'm telling you, I am not—"

"No, Wally," Robin interrupted, almost scowling at his friend. Then he looked apologetic again, "Would you just, _please_, go? They're in BC's counselling room…"

"Am I in need of therapy?" Wally joked, and Robin rolled his eyes at him, but even as he did, the sullen expression still hadn't left his friend's face. "Dude, why don't you just tell me what's going on exactly? Did you guys not want me here today and now you're trying to get rid of me?" he frowned at the shorter boy.

"That's not it at all," Robin replied. "I just thought you'd rather want to be home when they talk to you," the Boy Wonder explained. "But, since you're here…I guess there's nothing for it, now."

"Why don't _you_ just tell me what's going on?" Wally implored again, thinking he'd rather hear whatever it was from his best friend than the shrink and the scary bat – no offense to either.

"I…It's not my place to say," Robin said, his voice sounding suddenly tight, and his eyes not meeting Wally's. He was pointedly looking away, his fists clenched. "I-I don't _want_ to say it anyway."

Brows furrowed, Wally stared at his best friend, uncomprehending.

"Dude…"

"Just talk to Bats, okay?" Robin snapped, looking up at his friend, his voice almost cracking. "_Please?_"

Wally blinked, feeling thoroughly confused and more than a little worried. What the _heck_ was going on?

Then he sped off towards Bats and BC, finding them right where Robin had said they were, of course. What happened next was even more of a blur afterward than what breakfast had been, and then Wally was on the road in some foreign state, just _running_.

Tears streaked down his cheeks even as his mind was telling him it was silly to cry. It wasn't true, after all. It just _wasn't true_. It couldn't be.

"Sit down, Wally," Black Canary had spoken to him kindly, of course, but Wally had declined the suggestion.

"Why am I here?"

Batman stepped forward as he spoke, "As you know, in your absence last night, your Uncle Barry agreed to help out the team on their assigned mission."

"Yeah, about that," Wally had cut in with a contemplative frown. "Did he _really_? Because I distinctly remember him being over for dinner. And I wouldn't forget that – there was pie—"

"Wally," Black Canary had said again, putting a stern hand on Wally's shoulder and guiding him to an armchair. "_Sit down_."

He'd sort of met her half way and plopped down onto the arm of said chair, and with a reluctant sigh, she'd taken it, stepping back again for Batman to continue.

Wally couldn't remember a single word of Batman's report of the mission. It wasn't a very detailed one anyway; of course, the mission itself wasn't what mattered or what the point of the conversation was about. This was about breaking news – _bad_ news, to a sixteen year old kid.

The only words that stuck in Wally's mind thus, were, "I'm sorry, Wally…" and by the Helmet of Fate he really _did_ sound sorry. "Your Uncle Barry is dead."

And Wally ran.

* * *

Not quite remembering how he'd gotten there, Wally found himself in one of the empty spare rooms in Mount Justice hours later after he'd sped across the country almost three times.

It was dark in the room. He hadn't bothered with the light. What did it matter anyway?

He sat on the edge of the bed, back bent forward, his arms hanging limply between his legs, thumbs twiddling, as he stared at the dark wall ahead.

He should go home. See Aunt Iris. She must have heard by now, too.

Absently, Wally shook his head. It wasn't _possible_. It just couldn't be, because Uncle Barry hadn't been on a mission last night. And yet, even as he thoroughly clung to that belief, he was just as convinced his uncle _had_ gone on a mission in his stead, as well.

He recalled, strangely, mumbling about Uncle Barry cancelling dinner plans because of said mission through his mouthful of pie when his mom had asked _last night_. And at the same time Uncle Barry was sitting next to him around their dinner table, laughing with blueberry in his teeth.

Wally wracked his brain, trying to think of _some logical explanation_ for this bizarreness.

Were there two realities? Had he been in both, but was now stuck in the one where one of his greatest fears had become a reality?

His uncle was _dead_.

His feet were sore. He was sweaty and probably stunk like old gym socks, and _dammit_, he was _still hungry_.

So many nightmares – first no food, then those crazy dreams, not to mention everything else that had gone wrong this past week; heck, even his mom's freaky slipper situation was scary!

And to top it all off…Uncle Barry.

A knock sounded from the other side of the door, and Wally looked up miserably as it opened to admit his best friend.

Robin switched on the light as he entered and shut the door behind him, tentatively. A sympathetic little frown covered the boy's face.

But all the misery had left Wally's when he saw Robin, a completely new thought coming to mind at the sight of Gotham's Boy Wonder.

He got to his feet, "Dude, whatever happened to Scarecrow?" he asked, and Robin, who'd been walking closer, paused in his step, perplexed.

"What?"

"Er…" Wally shook his head, trying to grab better hold of the memory. "This is going to sound crazy…but, yesterday…" he had to pause for a second. Not yester_day_. Last night, maybe? But, after dinner with Uncle Barry, that he'd apparently not had at all. "Well, _whenever_, Scarecrow showed up in Central City."

Robin's eyebrows rose to his hairline, "Wally…" he started sceptically, and Wally scowled at once.

Robin didn't believe him. He'd been afraid of this.

"Yeah, yeah – I know, what would _your_ villain be doing in _my_ city? It sounds crazy – I said it would, but I'm _serious_—"

"Wally, it's not possible," Robin cut in, his voice sounding filled with unfamiliar emotion to Wally's ears. "Scarecrow's in Arkham," Robin had his hands raised like he meant to calm Wally down as he came closer, "Let's just sit down, Wally. We can talk about this…you, you just…I-I know how you feel," the kid's voice trembled a little at those words and Wally felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. This was probably bringing up thoughts of his parents. "But I can't help you if you're like this…"

"Like _what_?!" Wally found himself snapping, suddenly and involuntarily giving in to the smallest bit of all those emotions he'd been trying to keep at bay since his afternoon sprint. After all, Uncle Barry _wasn't _dead, he just wasn't. Wally could feel it in his bones. There was no reason to be sad over it.

"You're in denial, Wally!" Robin snapped desperately, grabbing hold of his arms, clutching tight. "And I want to help you, t-to be there for you," his voice hitched and cracked, and Wally stared at his sniffling friend. "I-I don't want you to go through this alone like I had to, b-but I can't if you're like this!"

"Rob…" Wally breathed, all the fight suddenly drained out of him at the sight of his best friend's face staring up at him. Tears leaked out from under Robin's sunglasses, and the kid at once looked away. He didn't let go of Wally, though, and the older boy clutched Robin's elbows with his hands. "If you want to help, Robin, then you _have_ to believe me. You have to trust me that something's not right here. My memories are all out of whack – Uncle Barry's not dead—"

"_Wally_…" he cut off as Robin breathed his name and lightly shook his head. Fear clung to Wally's insides as he waited on the boy to say something.

His stomach was tight, with _hunger_, _dammit_, and fear. A desperate, terrible fear.

And then it hit him like a bucket of ice cold water – _fear_.

He was afraid. He'd been afraid all week. And a mass of large and small fears he'd accumulated through his long life of sixteen years had all happened at once like he'd broken a mirror – not that he believed in _that_ – or had _really_ been cursed by some insane magician…

_Or…or a scary villain…_

And right now, his biggest fear was knowing the truth of something, but having it sound _so bizarre_ that no one, not even _Robin_ would believe him.

He needed…he needed to turn this around somehow.

He needed Robin to believe him.

He needed to be _afraid_ of Robin believing him.

But why would that scare him? What kind of consequence would Robin believing him have that would terrify Wally?

…

Pretty much the same as when Robin _didn't _believe him.

Wally would be terrified of getting it wrong, and screwing things up – and worse, Robin being a part of his mess and getting into trouble, and danger, or _worse_.

Yes, that was it. That's what he was afraid of right now – more than anything.

That Robin believed him, but that it turned out he was wrong, that Uncle Barry was really dead, and nothing fishy was going on, and all these nightmares were just a coincidence.

That's what he feared – Robin believing him and helping him with some insane scheme to set things right that aren't actually wrong, and…and getting hurt for his efforts—

"I…I believe you, Wally," Robin said in a small, resigned voice, and Wally recoiled.

"_What?_" _What?! It worked? It actually worked?_

He tried really hard not to grin.

Robin looked up at him, his expression one of grim determination, but he said firmly, "I believe you, Wally. Tell me what we have to do."

Wally did grin then, feeling elated. Now, all this had to do, was _not_ back-fire on him. "I need, I need—"

"Take a breath, and tell me then," the Boy Wonder advised, and Wally obeyed.

"You keep an antidote on you for Scarecrow's fear toxin?"

"Of course," Robin nodded, letting go of Wally, who released him as well, to pull out his utility belt from somewhere on his person. Honestly, _where exactly_ the kid kept it, Wally had no freakin' clue.

Robin produced a vial from one of the belt's pockets and a syringe from another, and tossed the belt onto the bed. "What are we doing with this?"

Wally took the syringe without a word, punctured the vial's cap with the needle and drained the liquid from the vial before he spoke, "I'm taking it."

"Are you kidding me – what for?" Robin recoiled, snatching back the syringe at once. "You're not infected – this could sort of kill you."

Wally blinked, "Really?"

"Well, maybe not _kill_ you, exactly," Robin conceded. "But you'll probably get a bad headache," he shrugged.

"Dude, my head's been throbbing all day. Besides – you trust me, right?"

Robin watched him, looking skeptic again, and glanced from Wally to the syringe and back with a frown on his face. "I…don't know, Walls—"

Wally didn't let him finish, it was now or never. "Sorry, dude!" and he sped the syringe out of Robin's hands, dashing round the bed where he poised the needle over his arm, sleeves already rolled back. "But this is the only thing I can think of that will help."

After all, what better way to wake himself from a Scarecrow induced nightmare than by taking the cure?

"Wally…" Robin cringed.

Wally looked up at his friend and realized, if he was right, that was probably not even the _real_ Robin. He was only in his mind.

Robin flinched when Wally plunged the needle into his arm, the kid glancing at the door, looking like he was about to call someone for help.

Teeth grit, face set, Wally pushed down on the syringe, sending the antidote into his veins.

Though Wally was pretty sure he hadn't shut his eyes when he'd given himself the cure, he distinctly felt them snap open a moment later.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**Hope you're having great holidays, and happy New Year! There probably won't be another update until 2014. So, until then...**


	6. Hunger

**A/N: ****_This. Chapter._**** It came so easy, as opposed to the last one, which was just ****_so hard_**** to write for some reason. I like it, but I'm uncertain about it at the same time, because to me, it ****_feels_**** different and ****_sounds_**** different than all the previous ones, but I ****_could_**** be imagining it *shrug* or maybe it's just New Year's? Or maybe I'm in a different state of mind...moo. But, either way, there you go.**

* * *

**Interlude: Reality.**

**Chapter One: Wally West.**

* * *

When Wally opens his eyes he's immediately, acutely, aware of three things:

Firstly, his vision is hazy and it's on account of two reasons – the one is that there's a thin layer of fog in front of his eyes, quickly dissipating, and the second, is the seemingly thick, not quite see-through glass before him that makes it difficult to make out anything beyond it.

Secondly, Wally can hear muffled, distorted voices from somewhere, potentially beyond the glass, but he can't make out anything distinct because his ears are sort of ringing and his mind doesn't seem to comprehend their language on account of its fuzzy, _thick_ feel.

And that's the third thing he knows, his head feels a little…_trippy_.

What was he – drugged?

Wally wants to moan, just to know that his voice is still there and working, at least, and also because his throat feels _really_ dry, he realises, and making some sound is sort of impulsive because of this fact, but he restrains, because if he did, the shapes beyond the glass and their voices might notice him.

It also dawns on him as he wakes up a little more by the second, that his arms are raised above his head, and they're sort of stretched out, and tied at the wrists, he feels, and his back is against something, and his ankles are tied as well, but his feet aren't touching the floor.

He's assuming there is one.

His limbs are heavy, and they ache from the stretched-out position, and they tingle as he flexes his fingers, and his toes in his boots, and he figures he must have been here a goodly while.

He doesn't know where here is, but the first thing that comes to mind is _Cadmus_, because, he realises, this is undoubtedly a _pod_, and who else specialises in the torture-in-a-pod practice?

The feel of his uniform against his skin is soft and stretchy, like always, and he realises – so many realisations to be had in the minute he's been awake – that he's _in his uniform_, which means he was…what? On a mission, out on patrol with his uncle? – before he clearly got napped by…well, whoever resides beyond the glass.

And Wally's blinking furiously to clear his vision, and squinting to make out the shapes beyond the glass, and straining his ears, and wishing he could clear one with a forefinger like that would help, in the hopes of hearing their words.

And then one of them disappears from his vision, moving away from in front of his pod, and Wally's blinking a little less because things are finally coming better into focus, and the glass doesn't seem nearly as opaque as he'd thought.

He kind of sucks in a gasp at the last second, and kind of squeaks anyway, defeating the point of trying not to make a sound, but the man on the other side of the glass has his back turned to Wally, and has his attention on the other one Wally doesn't see anymore, and he doesn't hear.

Wally breaths out really slowly only because he _has_ to breathe out, because he certainly can't hold his breath forever, but he does it slowly and _very_ quietly, because he recognises the shape a few feet from him and he doesn't want the man to turn and see he's awake.

He's tall, and he's slender, and the purple of his suit and green of his hair is a dead give-away for who he is.

The _Joker_.

_Robin's_ Joker. _Batman's_ Joker. And Wally can't understand why _he's_ here, imprisoned in a _Cadmus_ pod, by a villain that's not even "his".

Wally has his eyes narrowed and he's thinking it over, and he's wondering at the last thing he can remember, but it's pie and that doesn't help him at all, and he's been thinking a couple of seconds before he realises he can hear again.

It's like when you're doing homework with music in your ears, and you're concentrating on the formula, and you're really into it, and the next moment you're singing the chorus of a song you just _suddenly_ heard even though it's been playing in your ears for two and a half minutes already.

"I don't _know_," it's the Joker speaking, answering a question, apparently, and he sounds genuinely perplexed and intrigued, and Wally notices he has his hands somewhere in front of him and he must be looking at something ahead of him.

So Wally squints, and kinds of lifts up his head to look past the purple clad villain and he sees—

"But it's a fun, fun, _fun_," he grounds out the last word in a harsher tone before slipping back into the more insane one, "Concept! Little Boy Wonder in a fear-filled reality over and over and _over again!_"

Wally swallows at his very dry throat that kind of stings, because he sees the pod opposite his, and Joker's in the way, but he caught a glimpse of gloveless hands and red sleeves, bound the same way he is.

"It _is_ an interesting development I wouldn't have thought of," says another voice, much more composed, and it must be the shape Wally had seen before, but he can't see it anymore. It's off somewhere to his left, and when it speaks he doesn't recognize it. "But it's the only explanation. The antidote is trying to repel the fear, so the reality in his mind slows down, turning the situation into one of comfort, and safety. But the toxin takes over again, creating the fear all over."

"How long will it _last_?" Joker must be grinning by his tone.

"Until the antidote works its way through his system and out of it," the other man's tone is lazy, offhand, but then it sounds…smug. "Of course, the toxin will stay present long after that."

Joker laughs. It's a little throaty giggle of sadistic triumph and Wally swallows, trying to figure out what they mean and what they're talking about.

"What of the others?" Joker enquires, sounding suddenly like the serious businessman, and he turns, and he has his one hand to his chin and the other crossed over his chest, and his back is really straight, and Wally kind of shrinks and slits his eyes, afraid the Joker might notice him from the corner of his eye.

Joker's looking at something else, but Wally's looking at Robin, having a better view of his best friend now that Joker's frame is thinned.

Robin's head hangs, he's unconscious, and he's tied and podded like Wally, but the speedster can't make out much more – injuries? Faking it? _Something?_ – through the glass and through the fog, a sick-looking green-brown thing that hangs in the air around Robin's head. He must be breathing it. Breathing it and suffocating on it, Wally's mind freaks out.

What's-his-name is still speaking, but Wally's not hearing, because his slow mind has suddenly caught up – _others?_

What others?

He's turning his head to see, and he kind of does – a pod next to Robin, more of the brown-green fog in it, and on the other side of Robin is another pod, but it's empty, but the Joker is looking to his right and Wally guesses that wherever the "others" are, it's there and he can't see them so he doesn't know who they are and that kind of makes his stomach sink despairingly.

His team? Random innocent civilians?

"…will grow, until they're dead of fear or something, I guess. That's what we're here to see," the last is said with certain malice, and some excitement, and intrigue, and Wally is kind of reminded of himself whenever he gets excited over some new science thing he's been wanting to try and is finally able to – just without all the evil.

Joker's grinning, and laughing quietly like it's an instinctive thing, the way other people breathe without thinking, but Wally's not looking at him and not paying attention.

His brain has kind of been running on super-speed since he woke up, because he hasn't actually realised it exactly, but he's been panicked all this time, but he's noticed it now – like the mention of someone dying let him know he was silently freaking out when really it wasn't the time – and he's trying to be _less_ panicked.

So Wally shuts his eyes for a moment – or whatever passes for a "moment" to him – and he breathes in deep, and lets it out slow, and he moves his tongue in his mouth, trying to work up some spit to swallow down his _very dry throat_, because it's as close to water as he can get right now.

Finally he notices the pit in his stomach. Obviously he hasn't eaten in a while. The revelation adds to the heaviness of his limbs with a new feeling that's not just "hanging around" – _tiredness_.

Wally sighs – _quietly_ – as his heartbeat slows down and he relaxes in his restraints, ready to start thinking clearly.

So he opens his eyes—

He croaks out a strangled cry at the sight of the Joker's wide, grey-green eyes right in front of him, the clown's mouth split into a wider grin than what should be humanly possible.

Wally recoils, snaps his head back against the back of his pod, which leaves him with a painful throb for a moment, and at once his heart speeds up again at the sight of the Joker with his face pressed up to the glass too close his nose is flattened and his hands are on the glass right next to his face, and he's grinning and looking _insane_—

"We have a _live one!_" he shrieks, even as Wally cries out, and it's loud in Wally's ears and it sounds crazy, and makes Wally's skin crawl and his hands fist and he squirms in his restraints, but it's useless and he knows it, so he ends up frozen with his teeth clenched and staring down at the Joker with his heart pounding in his chest.

Joker laughs.

It's hearty, but it sounds _cruel_, and he has his head thrown back and his eyes closed, but he's still pressed up against the pod, and despite the glass separating them, to Wally it's still _much_ too close for comfort.

He breathes, and it's quick, like his heartbeat, but then its normal almost just as fast, and Wally's _thinking_ again, and almost calm again – they've fought the Joker before.

As a team. And they beat him.

Well, Bats knocked him out, but that's not the point.

What Wally needs to do isn't to freak out – he needs to talk. He needs to get the Joker monologue-ing, because he's a villain and they love doing that. Plus, Wally needs to know how they ended up here and what's going on since his memory isn't being forthcoming.

"Alright, the joke's over already!" Wally spits at him, scowling, and at the sound of his voice Joker stops laughing at once. His head snaps down at Wally in a move that _sounds_ almost _painful_, like he's just _really_ snapped his neck. Even though he isn't laughing anymore, he's still grinning like a maniac.

Joker's face is pale with white make-up, and his grin looks wider than it should be because of – well, he has a disturbingly wide mouth, but also – the red face paint that covers his lips and stretches across his cheeks, too. Wally doesn't remember him having had the extra added mouth-corners the last time they fought. Maybe it's something he picked up in Arkham.

Wally wants to ask what the Joker's doing outside the nuthouse anyway, but Joker's speaking and doesn't give him the chance.

"No," says the clown, very simply, and because Wally's mind has super-sped through thoughts of the Joker's altered appearance and a list of questions he should start asking, Wally's almost forgotten what he's already said that evoked the Joker's current response.

Joker doesn't notice. "No," he says again, in a different tone of voice, and then he cuts Wally off and plays with the word in a multitude of tones and accents, and general _craziness_, each one sounding creepier than the last, "_No._ Nooooo. No! **No. No-oh!** No. No! No-no-no-no-_noooo. No!_"

His grin is a mortified scowl by the end of his lament, and he's scowling, and his brows are furrowed and he frowns at Kid Flash in an expression Wally's never seen on a human face before.

Joker's still clutching at the glass with his hands, but his head turns to his right and he calls towards the man Wally can't see, "_Whyyyy_ is he _awake?! _Why is he awake? _Why?!_"

"Kid Flash – speedster," the other man's voice is low, and it sounds sort of pensive, and monotonous, like he's reading off something. There's a rustle of papers, even, and he's still muttering, but Wally can't really hear him until he says, "Must have sped the toxin through his system and gotten out of it faster. I didn't notice…"

"Then what are you _waiting for_?" the Joker growls, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Give him more! _More_ this time, _more!_"

"I'm already—"

Joker cackles, drowning out the rest of the man's words, and Wally swallows. Joker's spinning, his hands outstretched as he laughs.

Wally's eyes widen when the same fogginess that had faded when he woke, green-brown like in Robin's pod, suddenly shoots down in front of his eyes from somewhere overhead, and Wally makes the mistake of breathing—

It smells putrid, and he gags, and it makes his eyes water, and his breath hitch, and his stomach churn and his heart _beat—_

And then Wally's eyes roll back in his head, and his head lolls forward and his vision goes black, and the last thing he hears is the Joker's laugh that kind of morphs into the sound of a harshly beating wind, howling around the trees.

Wally stands with his hands in his pockets, staring solemnly down at his uncle's grave.

Green grass shines around his sneakers, around his uncle's grave. Everything looks _green_. Because it had rained. The sky was still wrapped in grey.

Wally doesn't remember how he ended up at Uncle Barry's grave. The past few days – the _funeral_ – is a blur.

He feels bad about that. His inability to remember. It scares him; that he could forget a moment so _important_.

Tears sting the back of his eyes at the thought.

He feels bad because he doesn't talk to Aunt Iris when really he should. He feels bad because he got Robin in trouble with Bats, for convincing him Wally needed a _fear-toxin antidote_ – how _insane_ was that?! – which sent him into a hallucinated frenzy, in which he got hold of Rob's utility belt and ended up throwing smoke bombs and explosive birdarangs around the cave like a paranoid lunatic.

But mostly he feels bad because he's standing in front of Uncle Barry's _grave_. And it means Uncle Barry's _dead_.

Uncle Barry's dead.

_Uncle Barry_ is dead.

Uncle Barry _is _dead.

Uncle Barry's dead.

And it hurts.

And it's sad.

And it's painful.

And he feels bad, because he _should_ hurt, and he _should_ be sad, and it _should_ be painful, and his _team_ hurts, and they're sad for him, and his family, and they want to be there for him, and they want to help him, but Wally can't…he just…_can't_.

Feel…_any_ of it.

Because he's too filled with guilt.

Because Uncle Barry. _Is dead_.

And a single solitary thought is at the forefront of his mind when, if it were anyone else, if _he_ were anyone else, it would be the last thing on his mind.

But it isn't, and _he_ isn't, and he can't help it's the only thing he can manage to think even as he stares at _his uncle's grave_:

_So. Damn. __**Hungry.**_

* * *

**A/N: Thanks ****_starwarsfan15_**** for the review! :) I'm glad you're still here and enjoying the story, and that the confusion isn't making you any less eager for more. :D**

**Happy New Year everyone! Feel free to let me know what you think of the story so far, and if you have a better, or a still fuzzy idea of what kind of trip the team is on...XP**


	7. Initial Reaction

**A/N: Thanks so much you guys, for the great reviews on the last chapter! :D You made my entire week! ^^**

**I ****_really_**** liked the last chapter, too, and it was a lot of fun to write XP so I hope this one doesn't disappoint in comparison... :/**

* * *

**Part One: Robin.**

**Chapter One.**

* * *

And then he was Robin again, and the spotlight in the tent illuminating his family's ruined limbs was a spotlight no more – but moonlight, shimmering through the clouds overhead. He was no longer on the centre platform in the circus tent, but on the edge of a tall building's roof. Which building, in what part of the neighbourhood, at what time of night, Robin wouldn't ever be able to guess at.

Everything had flown from his mind – everything but the memory – when he saw _it_.

Robin stared down at the alley below. His family's lifeless corpses no longer filled his vision.

Instead, the darkness he stared at bore the outline of a black figure in its midst. Limbs contorted unnaturally, legs twisted beneath a heavy, muscular frame, arms bent and broken, bones protruding, blood spattered, neck wrung…

Robin stared.

His heart lurched, his breath caught.

What was this?

_What was this?!_

This couldn't be.

It _couldn't_ be…

It wouldn't.

Not…

…Batman.

Batman.

_Batman._

With a screech that scratched painfully at his throat, Dick sprang up, eyes snapping open as he did so, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

The clatter of something falling to his left reached his ears, then something made of glass hit his bedside table, chipped with a loud _crack_ and rolled audibly across the carpet.

There was a startled cry amongst the sound of clanging cutlery and chipping china, but whilst he heard it all, Dick wasn't paying it any actual attention.

Almost exactly the same moment he'd sat up in bed, waking from the frightening nightmare, all the strength had left his limbs, leaving them drained and powerless at keeping him upright. He flopped down onto his pillows and stared at the ceiling with his mouth agape, not realising it.

He blinked, and found his eyes were filled with unshed tears.

There was light beyond the curtains to his right, which were still shut. What time was it?

"…Master Dick?"

Dick's head snapped to the side, startled, and blinking loose the tears he found Alfred at his bedside, peering at him in a concerned, yet sympathetic frown.

Dick's heart, which had slowed down a little after the sudden rush of fear upon waking up, quickly started up again.

Alfred, in a soothing voice, had his mouth open to ask in his familiarly calm British accent about nightmares, but Dick cut him off as he lunged forward with a hand to the butler's shoulder, clutching at the dark material of his coat and demanding urgently, "Alfred, where's Bruce?"

It had been _too_ real. Too much like the dreams he'd had after his family's fall, for it to _not_ have been real. Not just a nightmare, not just a bad dream, not just some fear-induced illusion – no, it was more like a _memory_. Haunting him the way his parents' deaths had haunted him for _weeks_ after they fell, _so_ long ago.

Never mind he clearly wasn't on a rooftop somewhere in Gotham and he had no idea what might have happened after Batman – Bruce – after he…

Since he couldn't even think it, Dick had no trouble believing he might have blocked it out altogether until morning.

New days looked brighter, fresher, like a new start – especially after a bad ordeal. At least, until it came back to you. In the form of someone's sad, sympathetic expression – much the same way Alfred was watching him now – or a haunting memory waking you from an otherwise peaceful sleep. A _mockingly_ peaceful sleep.

Alfred's expression turned from sympathy to regret before he'd done much more than move his lips to form a word in reply, and for all the patience Batman had engrained within Dick's character, he couldn't help but feel as though Alfred was speaking just _too slow_ for his liking.

Not to mention the older man's _face_. He had to see for himself.

"Master Bruce—" the butler had barely started or Dick had let him go, throwing back his covers and getting to his feet, traipsing over the bed and hopping off the side before sprinted from the room in an anxious rush.

"Master Dick!"

Dick ignored Alfred as he ran down the hall, his loud footfalls echoing about the otherwise empty house. He swung around corners and sprinted down hallways until he finally reached the heavy wooden door that was the entrance to Bruce's bedroom.

Breathing heavily, he halted abruptly in front of the door with one hand poised to knock vigorously, but then he stopped himself before his fist could start banging.

It wouldn't do if Bruce opened the door, for his guardian to see him all distressed and dishevelled and out of his wits – _heavy_ on the dis and the out of it.

So he gulped in a quick breath of air, which was the only thing he could manage by way of any form of breathing at the moment, and knocked twice. Curtly. Like nothing was wrong. "Bruce?"

He chewed at his lip.

"Bruce!" he knocked again, rapping his knuckles against the door a couple of times – _politely_.

But there was no reply.

"Dammit, Bruce," he mumbled, knocking some more, weight shifting from one foot to another in a motion reminiscent of an antsy Wally West. _Language_, a little voice had time to berate him from out of a corner in his mind, but the devil on his shoulder wanted to retort with "screw it" and "Bruce wouldn't have heard it anyway", but that only brought on another thought, _Because he's not in there. He's—_

"Bruce!" he yelled, and hammered at the door, new tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

Finally, he grabbed hold of the brass doorknob and turned, turned, _turned_ – but it was locked. What was it locked for? Bruce rarely locked his door – nobody went in there anyway!

"Master Dick—"

Bruce's room wasn't _that_ far from Dick's, a couple of short hallways and quick corners, but Dick hadn't expected the old butler to catch up to him this fast. Or maybe he'd been hammering at Bruce's door longer than he thought.

Alfred had a hand on his shoulder, was turning Dick away from the door, and the young boy let him, shaking fingers losing their grip on the door handle.

"Where is he, Alfred?" Dick asked again, as the man knelt in front of him, both hands on his shoulders now.

There was a lump in Dick's sore throat and he swallowed around it, repeating the question without pause to actually give Alfred time to answer, "Where is he? Where is he?"

"Calm yourself, Master Dick, please," Alfred implored firmly, but Dick felt his head shake in defiance.

"Don't tell me – don't tell me he's—" he choked on the words, trembling hands grasping at Alfred's lapels, "Just-tell-me-where-he-is," he breathed through his teeth, lips barely moving.

Alfred's entire expression was a painting of compassion, his grey-blue eyes deep pools of sympathetic understanding and sadness.

Dick couldn't imagine what the look on his own face must have been like for Alfred. He could feel the trails of wetness streaked across his cheeks, droplets of tears spilling over his chin, running down his neck and tickling his collarbone. He knew he was staring wide-eyed at Alfred, his browns furrowed, his teeth clenched and his bottom lip trembling. He must look awful – which is not to say "full of awe" at all.

"Master Bruce is _fine_, Master Dick," he said. A sharp little intake of breath made Dick's shoulders shake, and the butler squeezed them gently. "Regrettably, Master Bruce had to work today, of all days – I know. He has several important meetings, amongst other things, but wanted me to assure you he'd come round this afternoon for lunch. Whatever you think happened, Master Dick, it was no more than a bad dream—"

Alfred sounded like he meant to say more, but Dick had heard enough.

"I need to see him, Alfred," he said urgently, his voice stronger, sounding more like himself. He tugged at Alfred's lapels, like that would surge a bout of action from the butler, but the man wasn't moving. "Now! Take me to him, come on—"

He made to move, dragging Alfred up and with him if that's what it took, but Alfred had him firmly by the arms now and kept him rooted to the spot in a vice-like grip the boy hadn't realized he possessed.

"Alfred, I _need_ to—" he started up again, determined to drive some sense into the stubborn butler.

"Might I suggest a _phone call_, Master Dick," Alfred interrupted pointedly, and Dick froze altogether for a second. He hadn't thought of that. But then he blinked – _not good enough!_

He said as much, "No – I need to _see_ him! I need to be _sure_ he's okay!" he squirmed under Alfred's grip, but couldn't get loose. "Alfred, _please_, he could be dead for all I know!" Dick pleaded, cringing as his voice almost cracked by the end of the sentence.

He blinked, trying to blink _back_ the tears, only to have them slip onto his cheeks. He was having a meltdown, he was dimly aware, and it made him feel extremely uncomfortable – even if it was only in front of Alfred. Alfred, who had always been there to qualm his fears when he was younger and had many more, Alfred who comforted him with ice-cream and cookies and other unhealthy foods whenever his heart had sunk beneath the soles of his shoes for whatever reason, Alfred who stitched up his nicks and cuts, and tended to his scars and bruises until they were barely more than shadows of his night time exploits on his skin.

Alfred knew every part of him – every part of Dick, every part of Robin. He listened even when Dick thought there was nothing to be heard – he listened to him _and_ to Bruce, and like a ninja mind-reader, Alfred always knew just what the two of them were feeling and what to say to help them understand their own feelings and come to terms with them.

Freaking out in front of Alfred was nothing to either be ashamed or embarrassed about, but realising that he was made Dick squirm inside.

Robin was stronger than this, more rational than this. If Alfred said Bruce was fine then that was what he was. Alfred wouldn't lie. If Alfred needed him to calm down, needed him to listen, then that's what Robin did. It was so much easier sometimes to listen to Alfred than Bruce, even. Sometimes, in some ways, he even thought he was a little closer to Alfred than he was to Bruce. If nothing else, Alfred was certainly closer to Dick than the butler was to Bruce, despite having spent many more years with Robin's mentor than with the little bird.

Even so, Alfred loved them both dearly, Robin knew. And if something really _had_ happened to Batman, Alfred wouldn't be so calm about it…would he? Unless it was just for Dick's sake.

Did the butler know him so well he knew he'd have some kind of nervous breakdown in the wake of his mentor's—

"Master Dick, you have not eaten, neither are you dressed for an outing," Alfred's gentle, coaxing tone pulled him from his reverie, from his disconcerting feelings at being this vulnerable in front of his mentor's caretaker. "If establishing Master Bruce is indeed _alive and safe_, since my assurance is not quite good enough," Dick almost winced at the words and the potential accusation behind them, but Alfred's tone held no such inclination, "Does it not make more sense to call, Sir? It is a fair amount quicker than a lengthy, traffic-ridden limousine ride into the heart of the city?"

Dick stared at Alfred, all the fight drained out of him.

He sniffed, and wiped at a cheek with the heel of one hand – the motion didn't deter Alfred's grip on his arms, though it did lessen somewhat, apparently content that he wasn't about to bolt anymore.

"Alfred, why do you make so much sense?" he mumbled, feeling stupid.

"Someone has to, Sir," Alfred said lightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I need the phone," Dick realised aloud, and made to pass Alfred again, intent on running downstairs after all, but the butler had seen it coming despite his lessened hold on Dick.

"You should know by now, Sir," Alfred said, briefly holding tight enough to keep Dick in place before one hand retreated into the inside pocket of his coat. "That I have thought," he said, producing a cellphone and holding it out to the boy, "Of everything."

"Alfred," Dick breathed gratefully, snatching the phone from the man's grip, flipping it open and poising his thumbs ready to dial Bruce's number, only to pause with one on a button.

Bruce had meetings all day, Alfred had said. Dick didn't usually interrupt those, especially when he didn't actually have anything to say to the man. All he really wanted – needed – right now, was to know Bruce was okay, just to hear his voice – for now; he was still determined to drag Alfred to the car and make him drive him to Wayne Enterprises (if he didn't just end up driving himself on Robin's bike – as Robin, obviously).

But would his guardian be cross at the interruption? Probably not, he'd be more interested in what prompted the call in the first place. Robin's dream. Dick's churning stomach at the thought of his father-figure broken in an unknown alley somewhere, and the morbidly _real_ feel of it.

Dick would have to explain. Confess. Open up.

Breaking down in front of Alfred was one thing, but Bruce…Bats was a completely different thing.

Sometimes Dick could hardly find it in himself to tell the man _anything_ anymore, and not for lack of trying. It just made him feel too…_vulnerable_, by comparison. Batman never had meltdowns and never needed to spill his guts in a touchy-feely, teary-eyed, emotional admission.

"Nightmares are something Master Bruce understands quite well, Master Dick," Alfred said suddenly, sounding inexplicably as though he'd been reading minds again. "He's all too familiar with the experience, you should not forget. He would not mind," and Alfred reached over the cellphone's keys with one finger to press a single button and then the little green phone symbol. Bruce's name appeared on the screen, a dial-tone coming from the device at once, but Dick didn't lift it to his ear just yet.

"Especially not today, Sir," Alfred added quietly, and Dick spared him a glance, not knowing what he was talking about.

"Hello?" Bruce's familiar voice sounded through the phone in Dick's hands, making his heart leap.

"Bruce?" he said urgently, pressing the phone to his ear, unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips. "I—" but the smile faltered immediately. He what? _What?_ Had a dream that his mentor had died in a dingy disgusting alley and woke up thinking it was so real he'd gone running around the house looking for him like a crazy person? Yes, that didn't sound like Arkham-inmate material at all.

"Dick." Bruce's voice echoed firmly through the phone. An interruption, a statement, a soothing balm over words Dick didn't _have_ to say, sparing him the need. "How are you feeling today?" Robin didn't miss the hint of a very _slight_ emphasis on that last word. "Are you alright?"

Bruce's tone was calm, his voice steady and soothing, as though he were speaking to a _child_.

Robin didn't quite know what to make of it. Was he missing something?

"I'm…I'm fine," Dick breathed, and as soon as he'd said it, he really was. Bruce was on the other end of the line, and he was speaking _normally_ – which was only to say, completely turbed. Traught. Whelmed. Not as though he were under any kind of duress – very _ress_, then.

He wasn't using any code words informing of a compromising situation – of either the Bruce Wayne, billionaire businessman, or the Batman, night time Dark Knight vigilante, variety.

Which was all good. All very good.

Except that Bruce sounded so very…_caring_. In a careful sort of way, not the usual "I'm glaring my concern for you, at you"-way – which was a fond way, don't be mistaken – but rather a more subtle-sounding, sensitive approach kind of way, that made Dick feel uneasy only because he didn't know what it was for.

"Are _you_ alright?" Dick heard himself blurt out, on account of Batman's tone as much as the remnants of his dream still lingering in the corners of his mind.

Very pointedly, he wasn't looking at Alfred, aware of the spots of colour that most certainly rose on his cheeks at the outburst.

A little noise on the other end, as though Bruce had given a fond little laugh away from the receiver, and then when he answered, Dick could hear the small, kind smile in his voice, "Yes, Dick. I'm fine, as well. I…_do_ have some bad news, though—"

"_What?_" Dick asked at once, distressed, and the image of a dark alley, one bright spotlight overhead, flitted across his mind's eye. He almost shuddered, but that wouldn't do – not in front of his mentor. Or Alfred.

"It's…" Bruce sounded hesitant, but resigned, and disappointed, and _guilty_ as he continued, "Meetings. And paperwork. All day. I'll have to stay through lunch, there's too much to do for me to go home, and – and I know I _promised_ I would be there for you today, but…" a heavy sigh, filled with heaps of frustration. "Well, there's only _so much_ Lucius can do without me, you understand?"

Dick was nodding along with Bruce's words even though his guardian couldn't see him. At the answer of "meetings", the boy had practically melted in relief that it hadn't been anything more serious. Meetings all day didn't sound so bad. In fact, it sounded pretty safe to Dick – what could possibly happen to Bruce at his office? Attack by staple-gun? Ha!

_…Wait, that's not funny—_

"Dick…?" hesitant again, concerned and filled with remorse.

"I understand," Dick said, smiling, because he did understand, and he did feel content. Somewhat. His gut was still bothering him a little. His dream wasn't gone from his mind yet. The very _realness_ of the nightmare still clawed at his insides, trying to convince him it was not as fictitious as it seemed.

He still needed to see Bruce for himself. Touch him; speak to him face to face.

"But, I…" his smile faltered.

"What do you say…we skip patrol tonight? One night in the entire year can't make that much of a difference, right?"

The suggestion brought Dick up short for a brief moment.

"We could just…spend the rest of the day together. Along with Alfred, as a…as a normal family. If you want. I realise today might not be the _best_ day to suggest— or, perhaps it is _because_ it is today—"

Dick swallowed around a new lump in his throat, not listening to Bruce's mumbling.

He wanted very much.

Of course, Dick knew the Batman was lying, technically. The moment Dick went to bed he'd be out patrolling by himself. Technically, it wouldn't be _today_, though. It would be "tomorrow".

But in light of the nightmare he didn't care. Besides, sneaking out was second nature and again, in light of the nightmare, there was no way he was letting Bruce out on his own. But he wanted very much the illusion of a family. Doing normal family things that wasn't training, or skimming through case files, or polishing Batmobiles and stitching up suits – or themselves – and okay, Alfred did those last ones, but still.

"I want," Dick said flatly, and then chewed at his lip in anticipation of a response. He frowned at the wall, meanwhile, mentally still noting he was missing something.

"Good," Bruce said, and Dick imagined him nodding. "In the meantime, I've excused you at school, of course, and Alfred is at your beck and call – of course," it was a school day? Dick had hardly realised _what_ day it was, or what the time was for that matter, but – he was excused? _What for?_ "And I'll see you later this evening. Alright?"

Dick wanted to ask about school, but Bruce had only just paused to wait for his answer, when the man spoke again abruptly, "I'm sorry, Dick – I'm needed in conference. Have been for the past five minutes," a little smile in his tone, to soften the implication that his ward had held him up from important business he needed to attend to. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah," Dick said, filing the weirdness away for later confrontation. And then, before his guardian could hang up, "Bruce?" a little too anxiously for his own liking.

"Yes?"

"I-I…"

A pause on either end, then—

"I know, Dick," Bruce said, gentler than before. "I… I know."

"Okay," Dick breathed, though he wasn't sure _he_ knew at all what he'd been about to say. He and Bruce were hardly the emotional types.

There was a _click_ on the other end and Dick lowered the phone from his ear and looked up at Alfred as he snapped it shut. Alfred's was one of those older flippy kinds – the butler really needed an upgrade.

Alfred's expression was one of polite anticipation, but when Dick didn't speak he took to enquiring, "Feel better, Master Dick?" he asked with the smallest of smiles, touching the young boy's arm comfortingly.

"Relatively," Dick replied, frowning.

"Something is still the matter?"

"Bruce sounded…" he shrugged. "Just strange. He wants us to…spend the day together like _a family_."

"That's not _so_ strange, Master Dick," Alfred said sympathetically. "In light of things. He only wants the best for you today."

"And _that_," Dick said at once, pointing at Alfred as though he were pointing at his words. "He kept doing that, too. Talking about today like it's…_special_, or something. Am I missing a running joke, Alfred? What is today? And—and why am I skipping school for it?"

Alfred's eyes widened ever so slightly, lips parting in surprise. But then his expression turned the slightest bit cross, making Robin frown again, "Master Dick – that is not amusing."

Robin scoffed, "I'm serious, Alfred. What is today?" he asked, exasperated now.

Alfred swallowed, and recognition crossed his face as he realised Dick really didn't know.

"Master Dick," he began, his voice unsure and concerned. He grasp Dick's other arm as well and squeezed gently. "Today is…well, it's—" he swallowed nervously.

Robin pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows expectantly, and turned his head a little with one ear directed at Alfred in waiting.

But when the butler complied with the date, Dick blanched. "Wh-what?" he stuttered, blinking. "Alfred, that's not funny!" he reprimanded indignantly.

Alfred's expression was sad, eyebrows knotted together in sympathy, his lips a thin line, and his hands squeezing comfortingly.

Dick shook his head, and then, finding some clarity – a way of contradicting the older man, because he _must_ have gotten his dates wrong – Dick flipped open the phone still in his hands to check.

But there it was.

He dropped the phone, only dimly aware that it bounced, the battery popping out.

"Alfred," his throat felt tight, like someone had their thick meaty fingers wrapped around it. "D-did I…f-forget," suddenly he couldn't speak quite right, or see straight anymore – the tears he'd shed for Bruce's _fall_ suddenly springing to his eyes for a different one.

Dick found his nose buried in Alfred's shoulder a second later without knowing how it got there, the butler's arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace.

"My p-p-parents'…" he was still mumbling though, through the now-falling tears. He couldn't help but say it aloud, even though the words struggled to form, "P-p-parents'… parents'…" _Anniversary of their deaths._

* * *

**A/N: I hope you can relate what Joker's anonymous accomplace (like you all can't guess who that is XP) was saying about Robin's situation in the last chapter, to what happens in this one. **

**Meanwhile I've felt a little conflicted, wondering whether or not you guys might not enjoy reading about the reality and how the team is going to get out of their predicament - if they do at all XP - rather than reading about their fear-induced realities, now that you know they're just illusions... When I started the story it was mostly all about the team's fears, and I wanted to explore what those fears might be and how they would cope with them (mentor death rated totally high on the list there, as a side). I still want to do that, but that basically means writing six story lines in one story, and I don't want to deter anyone from reading something that could potentially become very complex, and leaves you hanging for a long while in places...so...thoughts...?**

**I'd like to respond to the ****_great_**** reviews - ****_thanks a lot! :D_**

**thwipthwipity: You're a new reviewer XP Thanks a lot for taking the time to tell me what you thought, and I'm very glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you liked this one, too... :) **

**starwarsfan15: Denial definitely paid off, I told you it would ;P I haven't forgotten about Superboy and Miss M - or Zatanna, because at this point she's a resident at the Cave, too, so she's basically part of the team. There's a reason they're not in Fearville XP, and we'll definitely get to that. So...stuff to look forward to! XP I'm glad you liked the chapter! :)**

**caylender: Thanks so much for mentioning Wally's mom's slippers! XD Because the fear toxin works its way through him so fast, I kind of figured that he'd still have a bit of a hold on reality, so his memories of what is real kind of interfere with the reality the fear toxin is trying to convince him of, and so that's how he knows something is wrong. The slippers were like the first tiny clue, and it's also why he has memories of dinner with Uncle Barry that everyone's trying to tell him didn't happen. It was also a way of letting the reader know something is definitely not right. XP I love and agree with everything you said about Wally's hunger also, but I also thought the hunger itself was kind of a fear - like, the fear of having his hunger basically take over his life to the point where it's the only thing he can think of.**

**Thanks a lot for reading everyone! :)**


	8. Reprieve

**A/N: ****_Thanks so much_**** for all the feedback, guys! I really appreciate it! :) And all the follows and faves, as well. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. Thanks as well, to Broken Antler in Winter for being a new reviewer!**

**Don't be shy to let me know what you think :D**

**I'm warming up to this chapter the more I read through it... I hadn't planned it this way originally, and then I thought I might have been able to write it better or...****_something_****... In any case, I'm happy at its presence, because I hadn't been planning it, but I think it was needed, so I'm happy it's here. It's a bit of a breather...sorta; I think...**

* * *

**Part One: Robin.**

**Chapter Two.**

* * *

Dick had spent nearly two of the following six hours in a tearful mess.

He was crying into Alfred's shoulder, his whole body eventually shaking involuntarily and seemingly without end until at last the butler pulled away to guide him toward his room, a sturdy hand on his shoulder and soothing words in the air.

Later Dick would be repeating the process into his pillow, for the most part, until Alfred found him again and pulled him back into a hug.

At some point Dick had managed to sleep through an entire hour. Dreamlessly. Blissful. Deceptively so; waking up to the unkindness of the day – unkind for it simply being _the day_ – and having it all come back a second time.

The remaining three hours he had spent cross-legged on his bed, in solitude – on his laptop, reading and rereading articles from four years ago, from several different newspapers all telling the same story and its aftermath from a different point of view.

In his mind, Dick unwrapped the folded red, blue and yellow acrobat's outfit, and let the memory he'd stuffed into the – apparently _deepest_ – crevices of his mind unfold.

He recalled swinging on the trapeze with his family. He felt the wind caress his bare arms, his face, as he flew. He felt his father's strong hands grab a hold of his wrists, his mother's soft but firm grip on him, keeping him safe. He painted their faces across the dark canvas of his closed eyelids and made them smile at him. He tried smiling back.

He frowned, lips pressed in a tight, frustrated line, trying to remember words. What had his father said when he ruffled his hair right before their final act? What was the mantra his cousin John kept repeating at him whenever he complained about not being allowed in the finale? What was his mother's voice like when she sang to him?

Or… or when she said three little words? "My little robin."

_My little robin._

Were those even the right words…?

He didn't know.

He could remember. He could relive the day's events – and the more he thought about it, he could almost narrate it hour by hour since he'd woken up that morning until he'd drifted into a fitful sleep with tears staining his cheeks that night.

But their voices…he'd forgotten what they sounded like. Forgotten how they spoke.

When he wasn't reading articles to re-familiarize himself with the event that had changed his life, he was on his bed Indian style, rummaging through an old shoebox.

It was filled with the leftovers of his…how he hated thinking of it that way, but it was true – _previous_ life.

His acrobat's outfit, looking like the tiniest thing he'd ever seen, was bundled up into a ball and tied with string so it wouldn't unfold and take up space. Later, when he fell asleep, he'd be clutching it in his hands.

Pictures. Making new tears spring to his eyes. Mom's face. Dad's kiss against his forehead. John's arm round his neck in a playful headlock. Dick's smile. His eyes. Maskless.

The elephant. The clown. Pop Haly. The big top. Home.

Other things littered the bottom of the box – an old wooden yoyo, a ball and some silver jacks, an old red nose, lipstick for some reason, chess pieces not from the same set, and a few scraps of paper he'd doodled on. An elephant. His mother and father holding hands. His aunt and uncle waving.

And a napkin, his tic-tac-to match against his mother scribbled on it in red and blue ink.

He couldn't remember which one he'd been. Who had won. It didn't matter. He hadn't kept it because of any of that.

Sparing the ink half a glance, he'd pressed the napkin to his nose and breathed.

Years later…it still smelled like her.

He'd forgotten…their _day_. He couldn't remember how they spoke, what they said. He didn't recall their voices, their sounds, the cadence, their essence, but… But he still knew her smell.

The box was full of it, too, and, for the rest of the hour, he just breathed it in, not considering he might breathe it all up and leave nothing for next year.

When he woke up, clinging to his costume, the box open and the napkin still next to his nose, the smell was gone.

So he cried.

Desperate to make up for his incapability to remember what should be one of _the most important dates of his life_, Dick had stuffed his nightmare about Bruce into the corner of his mind previously occupied by his parents and his life before the Boy Wonder.

It had come back in a rush over lunch, when Bruce called – all the fear of his mentor in mortal peril filling his lungs, making it hard to breathe for the space of a heartbeat, long enough for Bruce to assure him again that nothing was wrong on his end, he was merely calling to check up on his ward during the brief minute he had before the next conference. To apologize again for not being able to see him in person.

Bruce didn't ask why Dick hadn't bullied Alfred into driving him down to Wayne Enterprises so the boy could lay eyes on his guardian. He'd done it before; just that morning he'd been intent on doing it again.

But that was before he saw the date.

The desire to remember his parents and siblings had driven every other intention from his thoughts.

At least Bruce didn't seem to mind, even if he said and sounded like he really wanted to see Dick. He'd laid eyes on the boy that morning before heading off to work, of course, but Dick had apparently been asleep so peacefully, Bruce hadn't wanted to intrude. Perhaps it had been a nice dream. Cruel to rip him from the bliss of a fantasy and back into the tragic reminder of loss and what-could-have-been's the reality was filled with today.

If only the Dark Knight knew.

After their conversation, as reassurance over his guardian's safety settled back into his mind and his nightmare retreated, a new thought came to the fore alongside reminders of his lost family.

Had Bruce ever forgotten his parents? He'd been even younger than Dick when they were killed. Robin pondered this, wondering if his mentor still clung to the day his parents had died with a vengeance, if he was vigilant about recalling and repeating every detail of that night to himself whenever he had a silent moment, so he would _never_ forget.

Did he relive it in the early morning hours, back from patrolling dark streets in a frightening cape and cowl, when he shed the bat and slipped back into his human skin – the billionaire orphan – and lay still awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling?

Robin…didn't.

When Alfred brought his meal up, Robin considered actually asking the butler. How many years had Bruce spent crying into Alfred's shoulder before his sad expression turned into a hard, determined scowl? But he thought better of it, and returned to his reading instead. Food left mostly untouched.

At last when Dick looked up it was nearing five o'clock.

He felt drained – physically, emotionally, and mentally…even socially. Whilst he had no desire to talk to anyone, and Alfred had left him to his peace long since, he did however, find himself inexplicably craving human presence. Alfred was only one man, and Bruce wouldn't be home for another hour – at least.

Dick wanted more than that.

He wanted to breathe in the scent of M'gann's ever improving cooking, listen to her hum. He wanted to sit next to Kaldur in comfortable silence, simply being. He wanted Wally to zip back and forth across the room, spouting gibberish and trading smack talk with Artemis. He wanted to watch her in silence as she pulled back the string of her bow and loosed the arrow with a grunt. He wanted to spar a little with Superboy, letting out whatever emotions still lingered inside that couldn't be cried out or screamed into a pillow – because he'd done a little of that, too.

He wanted to play cards with Zatanna and give her a little smirk, wiggle his eyebrows and hold out his hand for her to read his palm – whether it was only pretend or not. He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The first since he'd grinned at Bruce's voice that morning.

Robin found he was most definitely a people person, and whilst not even Wally knew what day it was, despite knowing everything else, he knew his friends, if anyone, would help him feel better even if they didn't know they'd be doing it, and not they nor he had to talk for it to work.

Dick had hopped off the bed and was jogging down the Batcave's steps before Alfred found him and a little guilt stabbed at the boy's insides – he should have sought out Alfred first and told the butler what he was doing.

"Master Dick?"

Robin stopped short one foot halfway toward the next step, and, cringing only as long as his back was to Alfred, he turned to face the butler. "Sorry."

"For?" Alfred asked patiently, making his stately way down the stairs towards the Boy Wonder.

"I should've gone to tell you – I'm taking a quick trip to Mount Justice."

Alfred raised one eyebrow and looked at him down his nose, the shadow of a frown on his face. "I'll be along to fetch Master Bruce shortly. I thought you would have wanted to come along."

Honestly, Robin hadn't thought of that.

He felt antsy, for no reason he could actually ascertain. He just didn't want to sit still in the manor anymore. Be cooped up in his room, or stuck in a limo, waiting on Bruce. Despite _the day_.

He needed – _wanted_ – people, and this big old mansion was filled with too many ghosts.

"I know, Alfred," he replied, casting around for some way of explaining. For once, Alfred didn't opt to fill in the blanks for him. "I just…can't sit here anymore. I want to see my friends. Just for a little while," he added almost pleadingly, eyeing the butler like he could make Alfred understand just by giving him a look. "I'll be back before dinner, I _promise_. And then we'll spend the whole night together – like a family, just like Bruce said." A pause, but Alfred didn't speak, and Dick implored again, "Please?"

He knew he wasn't getting out of there without Alfred's permission.

At last, after a lengthy moment of silence – nothing but the echoing screeches of the cave's first inhabitants overhead – in which the butler wore an expressionless mask on his face, for all but the somewhat narrowed eyes that were the only sign to indicate he was thinking it over, Alfred sighed.

Idly, Robin thought Alfred either got that look from Batman, or…the other way around?

The butler's expression softened and he gave Dick a warm smile. "Would I be able to stop you from going in any way, sir?" he questioned, not a hint of animosity to his tone despite the resigned, frustrated words.

"Alfred…" Dick said quietly, sort of thinking it over and really considering what he would do if the butler did outright say "No, Master Dick, most certainly not. To the limousine." Some part of him couldn't disobey Alfred, though it came so easy slipping through loopholes in Batman's orders, created by omissions in his own responses or his mentor's lack of specificity. But on the other hand, he _really_ wanted to see his friends. He felt _compelled_ to go to them. Like, he'd miss out on something if he didn't.

Finally, however, he decided that putting aside his own feelings and desires was what he – and Bruce – did best. They were just _like that_. It wasn't the capes and the cowl or the mask that had made them that way. It had always just been _them_. That's why the capes and the cowl and the mask fit them so well.

Alfred didn't want him so far from home, not _today_.

And Bruce wanted to see him. They should come first. Others always did.

Thus he looked back up at the butler with a convincing little smile, and said, "All you have to do is ask, and I won't go."

Alfred returned the smile, and even though it was a smile, it was still filled with concern, and some mild disapproval, but understanding, and calm. For the briefest moment Alfred put a hand on Dick's shoulder before he spoke, "I expect you home _long_ before dinner. Master Bruce would want to see you the moment he comes through the front door."

"I'll be waiting," he shot back with a grateful grin, and spun on his heel at once to run down the rest of the stairs.

"Do not forget your attire, Master Robin," Alfred said after him, and Dick called back that he wouldn't even as he made for the cave's closet space. Bruce just had…_everything_ down here.

Robin had his own little collection of civvies, because of course it wouldn't do for him to been seen wearing the same outfit as a Gotham Academy mathlete. And not just because said mathlete was a mathlete and probably looked all kinds of dorky in his every day wear. Which he didn't.

Of course, he wasn't wearing any of those today. Apart from brushing his teeth, Dick hadn't participated in any of the usual morning rituals – including changing clothes.

Once he'd swapped his pyjama bottoms for a pair of jeans, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head to trade it for a more Robin-esque one, shivering in the cold of the cave before he stuck his arms through. A jacket came next, and then he pulled on Robin's sneakers over Dick's socks.

Settling the final touch of his hero identity onto the bridge of his nose, the world turned a little darker through the lenses of his sunglasses, but Robin was long since used to it.

He made his way to the Batcomputer – everything was a 'Bat'-something in the cave, and it always made him chuckle a little to think of it that way – and started typing away at the keyboard, designating where he wanted to end up at on the other side of the zeta-beam.

_Of course_ the Batcave would have one, and of course it would only be one way. It beat taking the trip to an old broken phone booth hidden in a dilapidated part of the city, though, especially in case of a desired _quick_ trip. But there weren't very many who really knew the location of the Batcave, because it wouldn't do to have just _anyone_ pop up unexpectedly and wander upstairs into their secret lives.

Robin made his way to the zeta-tube, and listened to the familiar computerized voice chime as she announced—

_Recognized: Robin, B01._

And then he was gone from the Batcave and teleported over to Mount Justice.

Traveling by zeta-beam always left a little tingle across the skin, no matter how many times you did it. Shaking it off as he stepped into the common room of the cave, Robin felt instantly…_relieved_ inside. As though he'd arrived at the place he'd _needed_ to be, and he'd been anxious about getting there and afraid of missing something important, without even knowing it.

The training area was devoid of sparring lessons for the time being, but the team was all there, and their presence had Robin feeling even more relaxed. He'd come to spend a little time with them after all, and in his eager anticipation to see them, the possibility hadn't quite occurred to him that none of them would be here.

It was a school night, after all; he really _should_ have thought of it. But it didn't matter now either way.

He considered them as he approached; some sitting at the edge of the training area on easily conjured-up stools, others standing around, they were each one smiling and looking happy.

M'gann grinned, holding a plate of cookies out to Connor, who held one up before he bit into it. Heart-shaped. That made Robin smile. They were pink, too.

Zatanna, standing just behind Superboy, gave a melodic little laugh and said something Robin couldn't hear. Sitting next to M'gann, Artemis replied to the magician's remark, and waved a hand at Kaldur standing beside her to pull him into the conversation.

Crossed arms, looking as stoic as ever, Kaldur's reply was quiet, but he smiled.

Wally, Robin realised with disappointed, was absent.

"Hey, Boy Wonder!" Zatanna greeted, Robin barely having gone two steps away from the zeta-tube. He grinned at her, waving a little.

"I made cookies, would you like some?" M'gann leaned forward to look at him around Artemis. Kaldur broke off in the middle of what he was saying to look back at said Boy Wonder, too.

"Of course," he replied easily, and then, because he really wanted to know, "And also, where's Wally?"

But he'd hardly said the words, and Artemis had barely opened her mouth to reply – likely in some snide manner – or Wally had sped in from the kitchen and came to a stop right in front of Robin, brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.

Robin had stopped in his step abruptly, and might have lost his footing and stumbled back were it not for KF's quick hand on his arm, a packet of chips in his other one.

"_Dude_," he hissed, so the others couldn't hear, "What are you doing here?"

Robin frowned, suspicious – did Wally know what day it was? Had he look up the date or something? Robin had kind of deliberately left it out in the sharing of his backstory – to prevent exactly this kind of behaviour.

"Shouldn't you be at home?" Wally's voice sounded a little strained to Robin's ears. His shoulders were slumped, his hand on Robin's arm holding tight, squeezing in a sympathetic sort of way, like Alfred had been doing all day, and at the same time it clung as though expecting Robin to fall right down without the support.

Wally's demeanour suggested something else – something more recent than the all-day event of parent death anniversary.

His green eyes were filled with concern, and a little moisture, like he'd seen a sad movie and felt enough emotion to maybe sort of shed a tear, without the actual tear-shedding. The corner of his mouth was twitching, as was the packet of chips in his other hand – nervously so.

Robin was suddenly painstakingly aware of Alfred's absence, and then a deep, _sinking_ feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, filling with an all too familiar feeling of _fear_.

He opened his mouth, throat suddenly dry, and only managed the one word when he tried to speak, "…_Why?_"

* * *

**A/N: Thanks a lot for reading, it's appreciated! :D**

**As a side, you might have noticed we've had three Robin parts, but this is titled Chapter Two, and the last one was Chapter One. This is because, when I got to writing the last chapter, I wanted it to be an extention of the first Robin part. And then, because Robin's part was also the very first chapter, I'm looking at it as more of a prologue, or introduction to the story as a whole. Little trivia for you. XP**


	9. Fourteen

**A/N: Thanks so much to my regular reviewers, for reviewing regularly XP You make my day, and inspire me to continue writing quicker :D I'm totally proud of myself, because school's started again, but I'm still getting chapters done. XP**

**I don't know how I feel about this, though. I kind of struggled getting the tense right, I was shifting between past tense and present tense half the time and everything just sounded weird, so I wrote it over again. I hope it's okay...**

**Thanks to TheUltimateCombo for the fave and the follow! It's appreciated, and I hope you're enjoying the story so far :)**

* * *

**Interlude: Reality.**

**Chapter Two: Batman.**

* * *

**GOTHAM CITY**

**December 27, 22:00 EDT**

**_Team Year Zero_**

He landed on the roof of a high-rise across from the booming club, in contrast making no sound as his feet hit the concrete – not that just anyone would have heard him anyway.

The music coming from twenty stories below nearly drowned out all else even this far away – how the ears inside must not be bleeding.

As soon as he landed and the line from his grappling gun retracted, he listened – because he has better ears than what boisterous music can overpower – for the almost inaudible sound of his partner's feet flapping onto the roof just behind him. He doesn't quite need to strain to hear it, and again, no one else would have, so it occurred to him the boy might have done it on purpose just to let him know he's there.

Robin sauntered over, hunched low and hidden in the shadows, while Batman slunk behind the parapet, glaring over the edge at the club below.

Robin joined him with a flutter of his cape as it settled down. He grinned, speaking in hushed tones Batman could hear despite the rave echoing through the night.

"_Man_, I am _still_ full with Christmas food," the little bird chirped, delighted, "I am never eating again. Seriously," but he said it with gratitude, glancing sideways at his mentor.

Batman shifted his glare toward the boy for the briefest of moments, acknowledging his words, but not quite approving of them.

Not the words themselves, just their existence.

"What? Wrong time?" the Boy Wonder quipped, unashamed.

Batman's only reply was a disapproving grunt, and he turned his gaze away again, not letting Robin see the miniscule tug at the corner of his mouth.

The boy had been chirpy all month, since after his birthday. Probably it had something to do with the seven minutes he spent in a closet.

Bruce had no idea what to make of it, or how to, or _if_ he should even approach that topic with a ten-foot pole _at all_. But it had put his protégé in a good mood, and despite how inappropriate that might have seemed – especially in the middle of a mission – Batman hadn't ever managed to mind.

It was part of Robin's charm.

He'd barely turned away from the boy, or an echoing cackle loudly clashed with and then faded into the rhythm of the music, and Batman didn't need to turn his head to know the Boy Wonder had disappeared.

Unperturbed, the Dark Knight whipped out his grappling hook again, shot a line, and flew through the dark.

He landed in the alley beside the club; Robin nowhere in sight because he was hiding in the shadows, allowing the Dark Knight to "do the bat thing" as he'd so eloquently put it once.

Spotlights drifting over-enthusiastically through the dark of the night, illuminating walls and buildings, and the alley's darkest corners, shone from the roof of the club, the side of the building, through the windows along the highest reaches of the walls.

Batman's query was arguing hurriedly in hushed tones, the light flickering across them for a moment, revealing their not-quite subtle exchange of package-for-cash. When the light passed a second time, they stopped mid-sentence, having caught sight of the shadow dancing on the wall beside them from the corners of their eyes, and they turned their heads to stare, bewildered and fear-struck.

It lasted only a few seconds – the dark bat-shaped shadow outlined by yellow light, then red, before the dark enveloped it again.

Startled, they looked around to where the shape belonging to the shadow must undoubtedly have been not a second ago, but they were met by nothing but an empty alleyway.

The package was dropped, cash forgotten – fingers trembling too fiercely to keep a good grip on either.

"It's the _Bat_…!" one man hissed at almost the same time the other snapped indignantly at his partner, "I _told you_ this would happen!"

Another spotlight shone into the alley – more ominous than a lightning strike or an unexpected clap of thunder.

One man spun around to watch the wall as though the Batman's shadow would appear again, but the other kept his eyes on the alley in search of the creature itself. Both were disappointed.

Instead they were met with a loud, cheeky comment, barely a moment since the second man's last words, so it was not out of context—

"He should've listened to you!"

A grunt was accompanied by an echoing cackle, and only because it was right next to his ear did the first man hear it above the boom of the music. A moment later he went down with the same strangled cry as his companion, toppling to the floor next to him with an audible _crack_ as his nose broke against the alley floor.

Robin straightened, grinning down at his handiwork.

Batman emerged from the shadows, striding over to the first man who fell to pluck him off the ground with one hand fisted in the collar of his shirt. He was dazed, but awake.

Next to them the second man spluttered, coughed, and pushed himself meekly up on his elbows, gingerly fingering his nose.

Robin crouched in front of him with a snide grin and a tissue, "Don't move," the Boy Wonder advised. "Just, as a side," he gave a little shrug.

Of course the man didn't want to take the advice or the proffered tissue either, and made to scramble to his feet instead.

Batman turned his attention fully on the dealer captured by his firm grip, as Robin gave the other a _little_ leeway before he pounced on him, making quick work of gagging and tying him up no doubt.

Spotlights passed at irregular intervals, sometimes shining a light on the Batman's decidedly angered expression.

The man he was holding trembled with fear, and, hearing the grunts and cries of pain from his companion as Robin took the guy down a second time, he almost shouted in a mad rush after Batman asked dangerously, "_Where_ do these come from?" with barely a glance at the package the other man had dropped.

Once the information was revealed, Batman and Robin gagged and tied the two dealers tightly together, hanging them up by a lamppost down the sidewalk. The street was deserted, and noiseless for all but the raging music from the club that would serve to drown out their cries for assistance. Batman mdke a mental note to call Gordon later to pick them up.

Returning with his partner to alley, he gathered the money, inspecting one of the bills with a critical eye. It was undoubtedly forged – one more thing to address.

Robin made a frowning face, his lips gathered into a corner of his mouth, and he eyed the discarded package over the tip of his nose. Then he dropped down onto his haunches, stuffing his tongue in his cheek the same way he used to when he was kid. Well, _more_ of a kid.

Batman watched him discreetly from the corner of his eye.

He reached down slowly with one single finger, making to poke at the package, and Batman waited deliberately until he was _just that_ far away before he admonished, "Don't."

There was no reason to be firm or scolding with his tone.

In fact, there should have been no reason to have had to say anything in the first place, because Robin does, in fact, know better. Curiosity, cats, all that.

Batman can't think of a metaphor that includes birds and pertains to the same thing.

Robin bit his bottom lip, his finger curling in on itself. He stood.

"What is it, anyway?" he asked with a little shrug, looking over at Batman.

He'd finished gathering the discarded cash, and was stuffing it into his utility belt. Robin raised an eyebrow – because Batman's attuned to the movement of his features despite the mask – and smirked cheekily, "You know you're _fairly_ well-off, right?"

He ignored the boy, who chuckled quietly at the fact, and answered his question instead, "I'm not sure. But it's new and potentially dangerous if rumours are anything to go by."

He reached down to pick it up with one gloved hand – it's a powder, murky green-brown and unlike anything the Dark Knight had ever seen before, sealed tight within a see-through plastic bag. It's about the size of Robin's palm. He's not sure what it is – it's Christmas, it could be any damned thing. But, given what he knows, he has a hunch that he doesn't like.

"We usually go by those?" Robin muttered, squinting in mock thought.

"Let's go. We can analyse it in the cave. I want to know what it is before we tell Gordon."

"Er…what about its origins?" Robin asked, reminding Batman of the dealer's confession.

"Not tonight," Batman replied firmly, perhaps a little too much so, because Robin caught the underlying meaning in his tone – not _together_.

He could practically _feel_ the boy's scowl on his back as he swung away into the night. A moment later, he's aware of the fluttering air behind him as the Boy Wonder followed in his wake, cape flapping distinctively.

He's almost relieved, the most fleeting of thoughts having crossed his mind – a disappearing act by the Boy Wonder _on his mentor_, for a change.

That wasn't what it was whenever the boy spontaneously vanished, as he had on the roof before.

That was just the way they worked. Robin was the distraction; Batman instigated fear and took down the target. On occasion – or during daylight – Robin was allowed to get a few punches in, of course, but he was trained to battle from a distance, blending in and out of the shadows almost better than the Dark Knight, leaping over heads and tripping bodies as he swoops past.

They'd been doing this so long now there was barely ever a need for words anymore. And Robin had _never_ disappeared on Batman before. He probably didn't need to be told what would happen if ever he decided to.

"Okay wait," Robin said, just loud enough for Batman to hear, and the Dark Knight paused with his grappling gun raised, ready to shoot another line.

They were several blocks from the noisy club now and the only sounds that echoed through the night were the traffic below, people shouting up and down the streets, little indistinct noises from apartments surrounding the area.

Robin was behind him, having only just landed.

Batman turned his head just enough for the boy to know he was paying attention, holstering the grappling gun, and, as requested, he waited.

"You _know_ where they're making that and who's behind it," the Boy Wonder said, and it's a statement not a question. Internally, Batman almost sighs. He'd been hoping Robin would let it go until they got home, at least. "Aren't you worried more of it will pop up tonight? And tomorrow, and every day after if you don't put a stop to it now? By morning everyone will know the Batman got to their deal and they'll assume someone squealed. Because, y'know, you're _Batman_, so who wouldn't?" he added after a pause.

Batman turned halfway around, so Robin could see his face better. He debated whether he should admonish the boy aloud for arguing with his orders, or would the glare be enough?

Evidently it is, because Robin rolled his eyes again and waved his hand at his waist in a gesture that clearly states _I get it, but—_

And Batman has to remind himself that Robin is fourteen now. But then, it's only been twenty-seven days and, what's the difference anyway?

Batman turned to face Robin properly, and he watched the boy with a critical eye – Robin's thinking.

He's contemplating his mentor's motives, probably, judging by the way his forehead creased in a brow-furrowed frown, the way his lips tightened and twisted. He scowled.

Batman considered what he must be thinking – whatever the package is, it's important, dangerous, and more than anything, it's unknown. Therefore, its origins must be important, and dangerous, and somewhat or mostly unknown as well.

It couldn't have escaped Robin's notice that Batman potentially knows _something_ about the people behind the – what is probably a – drug. More than what the dealer had divulged under duress.

He's connecting the dots – whoever it is they're too dangerous, or the – for lack of a better term so far – drug they're working with, is too dangerous for Robin to be present when Batman raids their hideout and takes them out.

It frustrates him, that Batman wants to keep him from this, the Dark Knight can tell – it was in the scowl following him across rooftops, in the tone of his voice when he made his plea, in the way his fingers twitched and the way they curled into a fist when he thinks about it.

But he doesn't _say_ anything. Batman's not entirely certain as to why, though he has a hunch.

Robin's last display of disapproval regarding being kept out of the loop had been directed at Aqualad for keeping them in the dark about the mole – a somewhat childish and overly dramatic display.

Batman's never been sure Robin really resented Aqualad for his omission, though, because heaven knows the Dark Knight has kept enough secrets from his protégé in the past for perfectly legitimate reasons, the Boy Wonder should be semi-used to it by now.

If nothing else, he should know there are reasons for secrets. Sometimes they're not very good, and sometimes they're unreasonable, and sometimes they're pointless, but they always exist and seem perfectly legit to whoever defends with them.

Batman theorized if genuine resentment didn't factor all the way into it, his reaction to Aqualad's secrecy was probably to test his abilities – in the face of controversy and resentment, to determine how their leader would step up to the plate, take control, and pull them back together as a _team_, proving his worth as a leader, and the necessity and credibility of his actions.

It was a risky move, but Aqualad pulled through.

_Or_, and the Dark Knight did not dismiss the notion, he's just giving his protégé too much credit.

In either case, he's seemed to have learned those lessons now, because he does not immediately snap and protest at being left behind.

(Or maybe it's just because he's faced with Batman.)

Instead he considers, trying to find a compromise that saves the lives of innocents threatened by the existence and distribution of a drug being created as they speak, but without having him in the thick of it, so Batman gets his way too.

He's coming to the same conclusion Batman had as they'd swept over buildings – they'd need to split up.

But Robin swallowed hard and scowled even harder at the ground.

Batman knows what he's thinking – he doesn't want Batman going alone. Not under normal circumstances – no doubt he'd been conjuring up arguments for the past half hour that would convince Batman to take him along to bust the bad guys anyway – but even less under uncertain circumstances.

Batman may well know the culprits behind the drug, but he hadn't tested it yet and he doesn't know what it's about, what its effects are or _if_ an antidote can be produced.

Robin finds himself conflicted, because there's a danger they're aware of and are capable of facing, but it's too risky without knowing all the facts first and having all the information, which means they're losing their lead and putting lives in danger, and Batman knows the boy doesn't want to, but it's a necessary sacrifice at this point.

Because they are, in fact, both a little selfish – Batman can't allow Robin to come with him, not if he's right about the "mastermind" behind this drug. And Robin can't let Batman go by himself into uncharted waters, without knowing the drug and everything related to it – what if he gets injected by it? What if that's the plan all along?

Meanwhile, innocent lives are undoubtedly at stake.

They need more information, true enough, but somewhere underneath it all that's only an excuse while they're really just trying to look out for each other.

It gnaws at his gut, however – his, and Robin's, and his again because it bothers his ward.

Batman walked back across the rooftop towards the frowning little bird, his fingers at the clasp of a pocket on his utility belt. Not for the first time he's deciding to argue against him – with a "batglare" and a scowl, and a message to Agent A to make it official – and give Robin the drug and send him home to analyse it.

There's no telling how long that could take, just like there's no telling how fast the drug is spreading across the streets, what it does – beyond the rumours, if they're true at all – and what it would take to stop it.

Recon only then, the Batman decided, and it's not the first time this thought had occurred to him either.

_Robin_ is the problem, because he'll argue or he'll follow, or more likely both.

Lessons learned from the situation with Aqualad aside, he is still just a kid. A thirteen year old kid.

_Fourteen._

It shouldn't be so hard to remember.

But then, it's not that he forgets.

Reaching the boy he has one of two choices – to put his hand on Robin's shoulder, asking him if it's time to go home, because by now, Robin's weighed the situation and come to the Dark Knight's conclusion… or, he hands Robin the drug and heads to the dealer's location on his own.

Robin looked up at him just as he stopped, and the Boy Wonder's expression made his mind up for him.

He slipped the drug out of his pouch with two fingers and held it out to his partner. "I'll be back before morning."

Robin's eyes shifted from the drug to his face and back again, and he swallowed.

Batman barely blinked, "Recon only. I promise."

"You were planning on doing this from the start, weren't you?" Robin's eyes narrowed, having finally figured it out.

Batman didn't reply, though.

"You were just going to drop me off at the cave first," Robin continued, almost scathingly. "I'm not a kid anymore, Bats."

Batman raised an eyebrow, moved his fingers, moving the package, and Robin's eyes followed it.

Realisation dawned on him. Two fingers took hold of the little package, but Batman didn't let go of it just yet, waiting on Robin to speak.

"You trust me not to follow you…" he said quietly. "What made you change your mind?"

"You're not a kid anymore," Batman replied curtly, letting the drug go.

Robin's face split into a tentative grin, but it lasted only a second before the moment was shattered by the silver knife flitting through the air.

Robin jumped back, as Batman did as well, but a yelp from the boy a second later had the Dark Knight running towards his partner in a heartbeat.

Gotham is a sea of artificial stars and, despite the late hour, there's enough light to make Robin and the blood out clearly.

One knife is stuck in the concrete floor – a decoy to split them apart – whilst the other lay discarded after its fall, droplets of blood on it.

Robin held one bloodied hand with the other, and the drug lay abandoned on the floor.

Batman wondered at the knife-thrower's location – too far away for him to have heard them.

He'd barely taken three long strides in Robin's direction, or the echo of indiscrete footsteps rang in his ears, fabric flapping to its own rhythm as the assailant approached.

Another swish, low and threatening, and sounding nothing like a knife this time, cuts through the night, and Batman had to stop running to jump and dodge the sweeping attack instead – a scythe.

Batman twisted his body mid-air, cape bellowing, as he plucked out three batarangs and flung them at his attacker in one smooth motion, landing clear of the offending scythe, but in the wrong position to help his bird.

The scythe-holder was tall, lean, and covered in a patchwork of fabric disguising nearly all of him and most of his face, but Batman didn't need much more than the weapon to know who it was – Scarecrow.

Then there was a pause – long enough for Batman to glance half over his shoulder, where Robin was holding his own against none other than the Joker, freshly escaped from Arkham it seemed. It must have been a new record time.

The Boy Wonder quipped something, but Batman didn't hear what, and the Joker laughed because that's what he does, but Robin didn't seem to be in trouble – yet.

The moment had passed, and in the next, Scarecrow leaped forward with his scythe swinging and Batman met him halfway, dodging to one side to miss the slicing weapon, and dropping low with a swooping leg to trip his opponent.

Scarecrow realised the move almost too late and ended up half jumping, half dancing from one foot to another, and Batman's attempt failed.

But the Dark Knight was on his feet in the same motion, blocking another swing of the scythe with one gauntlet, absorbing the impact and pushing the weapon back with as much strength as he needed. Free of the blade and Scarecrow wide open, Batman slung a fist at the man's face.

It connected, and Scarecrow doubled over to the side with a groan, but despite the pain and Batman already moving in to deliver another blow, Scarecrow was bringing his scythe back around.

Batman feinted back to dodge it and Scarecrow came erect, swinging haphazardly in quick succession, not quite caring what exactly he was aiming at it seemed.

Batman moved, backwards, dodging swings left and right.

Six more batarangs made an appearance, directed at Scarecrow's hands on the scythe, at the lengthy fabric of his trousers, meaning to pin him down, or the dangling fabric about the rest of his body, intent on cutting through and slicing mostly harmlessly through flesh if that's what it took.

But Scarecrow's surprisingly fast and adept at dodging several of the bat-shaped weapons. His hands moved up and down the shaft of the scythe, making them difficult targets, and his frame seemed thinner than before because the last of the stray batarangs slice through nothing but hanging fabric around his mid-section.

Batman scowled viciously, jumped backwards, out of the way of an otherwise deadly swoop of Scarecrow's scythe. He wondered when the man had gotten so good at playing with that thing.

Joker laughed somewhere just outside the corner of his eye and it's as maniacal a cackle as ever before, filled with ambiguity because it doesn't tell Batman anything concrete about Robin.

Scarecrow's scythe came down, but it's too far to strike him, and the sharp end sung against the roof floor instead.

Robin's laughter caught the Dark Knight's ears then, and he mentally sighed with relief – because it was not insane Joker-poisoned, and it's followed by another smartass retort from the Boy Wonder.

Scarecrow's scythe came up, and stuck to the tip was the drug Robin had dropped.

Batman scowled at not having noticed, and, being just too far away, he let loose a pair of batarangs through the air to do the job for him.

One sliced at the wooden shaft, but didn't cut through, and Batman was running forward in the wake of his weapons anyway. The other nipped at the blade's tip, but sliced at the package at the same moment Scarecrow pulled back on the scythe to retrieve his prize, and Batman had practically reached him.

"Batman!" Robin's voice and he caught a glimpse of the boy from somewhere over Scarecrow's shoulder – Joker out of sight.

Then his vision was obscured by the powdery brown-green substance of the drug as it fell from the thin plastic keeping it together, torn apart by steel.

Batman inhaled only the smallest of whiffs before he resolved to stop breathing, but, the powder is thick in his nose and it burns, and feels like it's cutting off all his air, and he needs to breathe, so he does—

There are bats, suddenly, crowding his vision.

He's not running anymore, he thinks. Those might be his hands clutching at his head, or it might be their tiny little feet scraping at his cowl, trying to burrow their way through, through his skull, into his brain—

There's a fierce tug at his waist, a little jolt of electricity that he barely feels and can't be sure exists, just as something snaps and he feels quite suddenly helpless.

"Batman!" Robin's voice cuts into the screeches, the insane laughter of the bats. The bats. The bats are everywhere.

Where is he? In the well? He squints. Bricks? It's all too dark to tell, but… the well? The _damn well_?!

Wasn't he over this, hadn't he conquered that fear?

"Batman, stop moving! Calm down! Listen to me—"

Robin's face flickers in and out of his bat-filled vision; he's in an alleyway—

"—let go—"

A low growl rumbles in the back of his throat, feral and territorial, because Robin's not alone.

"—Batman—"

A gunshot. And it startles him more than it should, so he stumbles, backwards, and there are bats fluttering up in front of him. He raises his arms to shield himself, his balance falters, his leg hitting something behind him – the parapet?

"Batman!"

Dick is falling. No, his parents. No – _his_ parents.

He topples over the low wall, and he's the one falling – bat's screeching, flying upwards out of the well.

"**_No_**_…!_"

Someone laughs hysterically.

Wind whips past his face. Something wraps around him as he falls, brushing past his arms, his legs…

The bats. The bats are laughing, but growing dimmer, and then they merge into darkness and he's gone.

* * *

**A/N: I love writing Robin from Batman's point of view. XP I ****_really hope_**** they're all in character. Obviously Scarecrow's a little OC, because I don't have much of a reference for him. Also, I'm not actually sure if his weapon ****_is_**** a scythe, and I'm not bothering to look it up, because for all intents and purposes, I ****_want_**** it to be, so it is. XP**

**Thanks a lot for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think, ****_especially_**** if you think something is stupid, or unbelievable, or out of character, or it basically just doesn't fit and you don't like it, so I can do better. :)**


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